


Um, I'm not really interested in becoming A Good, Honest Person At Heart (like, at all.)

by Pomodoridori



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Rebels: Servants of the Empire - Jason Fry
Genre: AU, Comfort, Gen, Hurt, M/M, Maul and Obi are kids y'all, Mauls fucked up 'cause Palpatine was a dick, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery from child abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2018-07-16 17:38:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7277554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pomodoridori/pseuds/Pomodoridori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Senator Palpatine's plans are interrupted much earlier and he's forced to reveal them.</p><p>Maul is captured by the Jedi and remains as unrepentant and angry as ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I have really, really bad luck, okay?

It’s Maul’s first real battle, although not his first kill.  He is twelve, and vibrating with energy.  He’s been instructed to stay inside the ship-- Master is outside, in the thick of battle, and Maul is trapped inside (his Master told him that he needed Maul inside, the guard the ship, in case any of the scum managed to slip inside the vessel.  The Zabrak is waiting near the ramp eagerly, listening to the shouts and screams and explosions of battle).  Maul wants to  _ move _ desperately, but for right now he’s supposed to sit quiet and still, waiting for the enemy to come running around the corner so he can dispose of them.  His Master had mentioned that they might be Jedi, and Maul wants _ desperately _ for that.  He can prove that he is worth something, that all of Master’s investments, all his training sessions, have paid off.  The halls of the ship are mostly silent, save for the echoes from outside, and then--  _ Footsteps! _

Maul goes perfectly, utterly motionless, knife gripped in the center of his palm.  He waits until the footsteps slow, halt.  He can hear a heavy breathing from just around the corner-- a few paces away, not far-- and Maul begins to stand, slowly.   _ If my prey won’t come to me, I’ll hunt them down. _  He freezes when a pole whacks right about where his head would have been had he stood to his full height.  It clacks down to the tile at his feet, barely missing his boot, and snakes back around the corner, leaving a dark trail of soot and the smell of singed flesh.  Maul’s heart is in his throat, throbbing.   _ Close, but now I’ll be able to-- _

Maul flings himself around the corner, straight into the robes of a Jedi knight.  He feels the Jedi reel back even as he plunges his knife deep under their ribs, slicing through the layers of fabric and skin, elbowing away their hands as they reach for their saber--

Maul is hurled away.  He hits the ground at three meters distant, rolling and bouncing back upwards to his feet.  A dull throb from his left shoulder makes Maul twitch in anger.   _ I should have landed better than that. _  The Zabrak looks up at the Jedi.   _ A female.   _ A dark-skinned woman in swirling robes, holding a metal tipped spear in her hands.  The weapon looks lethal, the end buzzing faintly with electric current.  Her robes hang open at the waist where he’d slashed her, but his knife hadn’t broken the skin (she’s far taller than Maul, and he’d miscalculated the height of her ribcage-- Maul’s always hated being so small).  She scowls. 

“You’re just a child.”

Maul snarls in anger, baring his teeth.   _ How dare she. _  He charges, boots pounding against the floor.

The woman levels her spear at him.  Maul feints to the left, and swings around right as the spear tip blurs past his face, sizzling.  The Jedi suddenly spins on her heel, the shaft of the spear shoving into the soft tissue of Maul’s waist like a bar, sending him stumbling into the wall.   _ Shit-- _

Maul slams his palm into the metal panelling, attempting to bounce off it and leap over the spear, only to find himself pinned in place.  He struggles to move, to counteract her hold on him, but she is too strong, and his experience with the Force is still too green to give him the strength he needs to break away.  Rendered inanimate, Maul glares at her, muscles trembling from exertion.  She blinks, once: slowly, calmly.

“You’re Force-sensitive.”

Maul hisses, irate.   _ I’ll kill her.   _

He never gets the chance.  The vessel lurches to the side, and the woman stumbles.  Her grip on Maul never lessens, even as she falls to her knees.  She turns to look back, cursing as she stands.  The Jedi glances at Maul, almost curiously, before storming away, back down through the halls of his Master’s ship.  Maul cannot allow her to escape.   _ If Master finds out...the punishment will hurt.  Badly. _  He shudders at the memory of burning skin and lashes.

Maul feels her hold on him lessening.  His knees wobble and hit the floor hard.  His arms are trembling as he pulls himself up to chase her, and Maul curses his own weakness.   _ If I were stronger this never would have happened.  The Jedi scum would be dead. _

The Zabrak is breathing hard by the time he reaches the ramp (he shouldn’t be, not after all the time he’s spent training, but the air is so thick and humid and  _ hot _ from the rain his throat closes up).  The Jedi is gone, and the durasteel gleams wetly from the rain.  It’s still raining, and Maul can sense that it will continue long after the ship has jumped into hyperspace.  He wants a closer look at the battlefield (it’s his first and besides, the ramp is still extended.  Master might call at any moment, so he’d better get a glimpse now, before it’s too late).  Maul strides to the edge of the platform, carefully peering over at the ground.  The ship is about twenty meters from the earth, and the distance is only growing ( _ Odd-- Master must have boarded the ship, and yet… _ )  Maul can’t see much because of the gloom and the rain, but if he peers closely he  _ thinks _ he can see the beaten armor of Mandalorians littering the ground, glistening in the rubble.

_ MAUL. _  Summons, from his Master. The word swirls through his mind, and Maul can feel a tug on the invisible lifeline that connects them.  It makes a needle of pain lance through his belly, although that might just be from hunger-- Maul hasn’t eaten in since the day before yesterday, and the world feels a little fuzzy.   _ Part of my punishment... _

Maul turns on his heel, ready to report his failures to his Master, when the ship shudders.   _ MAUL! ( _ Again:  _ yes Master, I am here, I am on my way--) _  Maul takes a step forward, only to lurch backwards as the ship rocks to the side.  The rain doesn’t help, and before he’s fully aware of it, Maul is clawing at the edge of the ramp, dangling twenty-five meters above the battlefield.   _ Oh, damn. _  Maul is scrabbling as hard as he can against the slick steel, but he’s slowly slipping.   _ Damn, damn, damn… _  Another bolt from a cannon below blasts the ship, and Maul is sent sailing through the air.  His eyes widen as he falls (it had been his only nightmare as a young child.  An endless, dark shaft, and him hurtling down it, unable to stop and unable to do anything but scream--)  Maul panics as he watches the ship grow smaller, the ground reaching up for him, clawed, like a hand, the urgent pull from his Master lessening, fading as they’re drawn apart--

Maul hits the rubble hard, shouting.  He is aware of stones crunching into his flesh, a buzzing sort of pain, and then, nothing.

\---

Maul wakes with a whimper.  He’s far from lucid-- hardly aware of how the landscape dips and moves around him, how he’s clutched tight to someone’s chest.  All he can think about is the pain that radiates outwards from his chest and abdomen, on the pounding in his skull.  He feels his abdominal muscles contract, and suddenly he’s dry heaving, gasping as tears run down his face.  His head throbs as the world seems to twist, and then the ground is mere inches from his eyes ( _ strange _ , Maul thinks,  _ I don’t remember landing at all, just falling--) _ .  Maul spits up reddish bile.  Someone is holding him up above the dirt, broad hands heavy and wide on his wounds, and it’s putting too much pressure on his chest, he feels something hard shift beneath his skin, and the nausea  _ is too much now _ , and Maul gurgles as he starts to cough, shuddering as blood drips onto the rocks below.  The pain is too much, he’s too sensitive, too bruised, and his eyes roll back into his head as Maul goes limp.

\---

The ship is old, outdated.  The Jedi prefer such vessels so they could more easily pass unseen.  The idea is that no one pays attention to a rickety looking freighter.

Maul pulls the sheets more carefully around his chest.  He’s lying on his back, in the ship’s medical ward (the bed is probably the softest thing he’s ever slept on, and the blanket is  _ so warm _ .  But Maul pushes away thoughts like these.  He can’t afford to be lulled into a false sense of security).  So far, he’s been left mostly alone, but Maul can feel them monitoring him through a camera positioned in a corner.   _ Damn Jedi. _

He doesn’t remember much about how he got here, or who exactly brought him here.  The Zabrak has the fuzzy memory of screaming in agony.  And then the inside of this ship, with its bright piercing lights and its cool interior.  Broken images of hands grabbing at him, and distorted faces looming across his vision.  Maul shudders and stops thinking about it.  Instead, he tugs on the soft bands that stretch across his abdomen and tether him to the bed.   _ The don’t know my allegiances yet.  They’re being cautious since I’ve already attacked one of their own. _  He lets his gaze run along his forearm to the I.V. drip that’s been inserted just on the top of his arm.  Maul sighs.   _ At least I’ve got painkillers.  My entire body feels...tender. _

The padding of feet alerts the Zabrak to someone nearing the room.  Maul is about to shrink back into the security of his bed when he recalls his Master.   _ Never let the enemy sense your fear, or else you’ll deserve what happens to you. _  So Maul takes a deep breath and focuses on his undercurrent of anger.   _ How dare they separate me from my Master.  How dare they take me captive, and watch me like some dog.   _ Maul’s gaze flicks to the camera in the corner.   _ Bastards. _

“You’re awake.”  A tall Jedi has entered the room, male, wearing robes of brown and grey.  Maul’s gaze narrows and he glares at the Jedi.  The man sits on a white plastic chair positioned by Maul’s bed.

“My name is Qui-Gon.”

Maul snarls.

The man simply smiles, gently.   _ Bastard. Bastard. Bastard. _

“May I know your name?”

Maul does not respond.  Won’t respond.   _ Because that’d be too close to obliging him. _

“I’ve got to address you somehow.  I can’t just refer to you as ‘child’ forever, you know.”

Maul bristles.  “I’m not a child!” His voice is close to a croak, and Maul realizes his mouth is pasty.   _ Damn dehydration to hell. _

“Oh? And how old are you?”  The man is smiling, smiling,  _ smiling _ .  Maul wants nothing more than to bash his overly-happy face against the pavement.   _ Some other time, when I’m able to move without pain.  When I’ve healed completely. _

Perhaps sensing Maul’s intent, the Jedi changes tracks.  “Why were you on Senator Palpatine’s ship?”

Maul is quiet, for a moment, deliberating.   _ They’ll be less likely to release me if they learn I’m his apprentice.  But… _

“I...was employed by Senator Palpatine as an errand boy.”  An idea sprung into his mind, and Maul has to wrestle a smirk from his face.

“Oh, were you?”

Maul pretends to squirm.  “Yes.  Well.  He occasionally required...other services.”

The Jedi sits up straighter.  “Do you mean those of a sexual nature?”

“Yes.”  Maul is surprised to realize that he’s not entirely lying, either.  There were times when Sidious HAD used Maul for sexual release.

The Jedi looks extremely offended and disturbed.  “Did he tell you to guard the ship while he was...negotiating?”

Maul was glad he’d shied away from the subject of sex.  “Yes.”   _ If by ‘negotiating’ you mean destroying parts of the Jedi order. _

“And that’s why you attacked Adi?”

Maul blinks, feigning ignorance.  “Who?”

“You attempted to stab her.”

“Oh. The other Jedi.  Yes.  That’s why I...attacked her.”

The man nodded.  “I see.  And she mentioned that you were Force-sensitive?”

They were treading near dangerous matters, now.  “...Yes, I am.  That is one of the main reasons Master chose me to be his errand boy.”

The Jedi stiffens, eyes narrowing nearly imperceptibly.  “You call Senator Palpatine ‘Master’?”

Maul feels his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.   _ What a juvenile mistake.  I’m fucked. _  “I--ah-- yes.  When he requests it of me.”   _ Redirect, redirect, redirect.  Make him think it’s part of the web-- _

“Oh.”  The Jedi seems slightly taken aback.  “May I have your name now?”

Maul looks away.  “It’s-- Maul.”

“Maul?  That a customary name from your planet?”   _ Shit. _  Maul had no idea whether or not names like his were common on his home planet.  He’d never been exposed to others of his species, much less from his home planet.  Maul didn’t even know  _ if _ he was born on a planet, or in space.

“I-- don’t know.  I’ve never been to my home planet.  But it’s the name that my parents gave me.”   _ Better not invite any further conversations about THAT. _

“Hm.  Alright, Maul.  If you need anything, you can push this red button.”  The Jedi points a long finger to a wire to Maul’s left.  “And I’m sure you’ll be wanting to know how we found you.”

“Yes.”  This was definitely something that Maul wanted to know.  “And the extent of my injuries.”

Qui-Gon--  _ no, the Jedi, the JEDI, keep it impersonal, Maul-- _ nods.  “The negotiations took a bad turn, and there was a fight.  We were gathering up the wounded and dead, and stumbled across you, unconscious and limp on the rocks.  We had our medics take you to the ship and care for you.”

Maul frowned.  “Where are the other wounded being housed?”

“I should have told you this first-- the battle was a couple of days ago, and most of them have been released from the medical ward.  We didn’t know what kind of treatment to give you because we couldn’t verify what species you are.  By the way, do you know?”

Maul shakes his head dumbly, ignoring the throbbing that had started beneath his temples.

“Ah.  Well, your injuries weren’t too serious, incredibly enough-- someone had reported that you fell from Darth--no,  _ Senator Palpatine’s  _ aircraft.  Probably because of your connection to the Force.  All you’ve got are some cracked ribs, a punctured lung, and a bad hit to the head.  Bruising, of course.  You got off easy.  Most people who fall from ships like that die on impact.”

Maul blinks.   _ This Jedi’s a chatterbox.  And trying to keep Master’s true identity from me. _  “I’m very tired.”

“Oh?” The Jedi stands.  “Rest, then, Maul.  We’ll have a few more questions for you soon.  And don’t forget the red button.”  He strides from the room, leaving Maul to contemplate his new situation.

_ I don’t know if he swallowed my story, but...for now, I can concentrate on a plan to escape.   _ Despite Maul’s wishes, his eyelids began to feel heavy.   _ Oh...got to rest.  Not usually this weak, but… _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maul continues to have a very bad, no good, rotten day.

Hunger woke Maul next with a piercing jab to his abdomen and the taste of acidic bile on his tongue.  The Zabrak sighed, his mouth folded into a thin angry line.   _ Hunger...I don’t know if I actually want to eat. _  The pain was good, Maul thought, it helped keep everything real.  Visceral and  _ sharp _ .  But then Maul shifted on the bed and his entire torso  _ screamed _ at him.   _ Oh.  I think I’ll eat after all.  Got enough pain on my hands already. _  Maul opened his eyes wearily ( _ too bright in this white-walled room, dammit). _  He rubbed at them with his fists and sat up, slowly.  His abdomen continued to throb in an agonizing beat.  Maul groaned and let his hand squeeze the sheets, shoulders shuddering.   _ Remember your breathing exercises. _  Maul took in a gasping breath, letting it wheeze out like a snail.   _ Inhale.  Exhale.  Inhale, exhale. _

It didn’t take long for the worst of the pain to pass.  Maul smirked.   _ Pain is just a message. _  He looked around the room.  It was empty save for the heart monitor, IV stand, and a small tank of bacta bubbling away in the corner.  And the camera.   _ Watching, always watching _ .  Maul growled.

His gaze fell on the red button that lay by his side.  Maul felt the urge to push it, to see what would happen.  If the Jedi from the day before (or had it been less time? A few hours, perhaps?) strolled through the door Maul would be less than pleased, although he  _ bet _ that the dimwit would bring him food, if he requested it. But what if the button was a trap?  Maul rubbed at the base of his temple-horns nervously.  _ Master told me the Jedi are weak-willed fools….And I doubt they would hurt me.  Unless they realize what I am… _  Maul frowned, hand fisting in the sheets.   _ I’ll try to walk, first. _

Walking was a bad idea.  Maul had just pushed himself to standing when his knees buckled-- Maul flailed, sending a wrenching shock of agony down his back, arm knocking into the IV stand (sending it reeling into the bed), and the Zabrak landed heavily on his belly.  He squeezed his eyes shut and he convulsed, once, palms pressing hard into the floor and nails scraping against the spray-painted concrete as he rode out the shock of the fall.  Once the white spots had stopped dancing across his eyelids, Maul took a wheezing breath and whimpered as his ribs twinged.   _ Oh, damn.  _

_...There are dust balls under my cot,  _ Maul realized belatedly _.  Disgusting. _  He kept taking small puffs of breath, until the worst of the pain passed.

Footsteps alerted Maul to someone entering the room.  He huffed.   _ How embarrassing.  I’m sprawled out all over the floor. _

“Maul?”

_ Ugh.  The Jedi from yesterday. _  “I’m fine.”  Maul rolled over onto his back, blinking at the Jedi blearily.  His vision was a little blurry, and his eyes took a few moments to adjust.   _ Either I hit my head harder than I thought, or it’s the hunger. _ Qui-gon came into focus, face pinched with worry.

“No, you aren’t ‘fine’.  Maul, I’m going to help you get back into your bed.”

Maul sighed and tried to wave the Jedi off.  “I just made the mistake of trying to walk.”  He forced a sheepish grin onto his face.   _ Bugger off. _

The Jedi reached down, as if to scoop him up, and Maul went tense with mortification.   _ I am not some helpless child! _  Maul batted his looming hands away with a barely suppressed snarl.  “I’ll get up myself!”

“Are you sure?”  The Jedi’s face practically reeked of concern.   _ I am not that weak. _

“Yes,” Maul hissed.  To prove his point, Maul dragged his outspread arms to his torso, placed his palms flat against the floor, and pushed himself up to a sitting position.  His chest throbbed and Maul gritted his teeth.   _ Pain is just a message.  Pain is just a message.  Pain is just-- _

“Enough.  You’re hurt.”  Maul yelped as big hands encircled him and hoisted him back onto the bed.  Surprisingly, the drop back onto the mattress did not hurt at all (the Jedi must have used the Force, somehow, although Maul hadn’t sensed its cold, grating presence at all).  Maul’s wide yellow eyes met the Jedi’s.  Qui-gon sighed.  “Maul, please be more careful in the future.”

“I-- yes.”   _ Why did he pick me up? I know that Jedi are do-gooders, but that doesn’t mean they should care about-- unless he’s planning to-- _

“Maul.”

The Zabrak twitched out of his reverie.  “Yes?”  Maul kept his voice as neutral and attentive as possible (because that had pleased Master, and Maul wasn’t sure about this new Jedi, not yet, and he’d rather not anger him until he could be sure that the Jedi wouldn’t hurt him)

“Would you like a glass of water?”

Reluctantly, Maul nodded.  “...and something to eat. ...Please.”

“Oh! Of course!”  The Jedi looked abashed.  “I’d forgotten about that.  I apologize.  I’ll grab you a glass of water and then we can head to the dining area.”  He trotted (smoothly) out of the room.  Maul sighed.   _ How in hell does he expect to take me to the dining area in this condition?  I can hardly walk. _

Maul stared at the wall across the bed.   _ What is Master doing right now? _  Surely he would have noted Maul’s absence.  And he’d be furious.  Maul shivered.   _ Once I escape this kriffing ship I’ll be hurt, badly.  I deserve it, though, for getting myself into this mess.   _ Maul scowled.   _ Damn it.  This is all my fault. _

The Zabrak nearly growled when he saw the wheelchair.  The Jedi gave Maul a slightly strained smile as he handed him his plastic cup of water.  Maul took it, ignoring how his hands trembled minutely.  Sometimes his hands did that when Maul was stressed.   _ And this entire situation is very stressful. _

The water was cool, and soothed his raw throat.  Maul drained his glass, grateful.  The Jedi watched him with his arms hanging loosely by his sides.

After Maul finished the water, the Jedi held out a hand, as if demanding something from him.  Maul gave the Jedi his cup.   _ Well.  The cup’s not really mine. _  Maul had never been allowed any possessions of his own, save for his robes.  “I’m going to pick you up and transfer you to the chair, okay?”

_ Probably better to just go along with him.   _ Struggling would only invite more pain, and Maul was willing to be humiliated to avoid more discomfort.  The Jedi leaned over Maul and put his arms around him, again, lifting him from the pallet gently,  _ slowly _ .  Maul suppressed a shudder.  The Zabrak hated being touched, because being touched meant that he was being punished.

Qui-gon sat Maul down in the chair, and the Zabrak shifted gingerly, hands gripping the armrests.  The seat was made of padded cloth, and was surprisingly comfortable.

“You all right, Maul?  You seem tense.”  The Jedi moved behind Maul to grab the handlebars and push.  Maul’s neck prickled, and the Zabrak resisted the urge to twist around and keep the Jedi in his line of sight.

“...I am fine.  My stomach simply aches.”   _ It  _ is _ feeling exceptionally hollow and needle-like, at the moment. _

“Okay, Maul.”  The wheelchair passed through the door to the hallway, and Maul resisted the urge to grab at the door frame.  Only a pang of hunger and his wounded pride stopped him from requesting to go back to bed.

\---

The food in the dining area was, in Maul’s opinion,  _ very _ good.  Better fare than he’d eaten in a long time.  He’d spent a moment staring at the size of the servings-- two fistfuls of soup, one palm of meat, and a handful of... _ were those carrots?  _ Maul’s mouth watered, and he immediately began to eat, ignoring the Jedi that was standing over his shoulder.   _ He’s hovering like some fly. _

“Don’t eat too fast, or you’ll feel sick.”   _ Oh, shut up, Jedi. _

Maul nodded, swallowed.  Scooped up another spoonful of soup and ate it.  Qui-gon shifted and sat to the Zabrak’s right, his weight heavy on the chair, making it squeak.   _ He’s heavier than he seems.  Must have a dense body mass.  Good musculature?  _

Too soon Maul’s stomach felt tight, and he slowed, setting his utensil on the side of his tray.  Only half of the soup was gone.   _ My stomach shrank.  I’ll have to eat more in a while. _  Maul took the chance to peer around the cafeteria, letting one hand rest on his leg, fingers tapping nervously.  The area was mostly empty, save for the Jedi at his right and a few of the crew (?) eating in the far corner.  Tables were ringed by empty chairs and a buffet framed the back corner.   _ Interesting.  Long tables with benches would improve the space usage and force people to interact, which would probably help with morale-- _

“You okay, Maul?”

The Zabrak sighed.   _ Fool. _  “Where are we going?”

The Jedi hesitated, then spoke, softly: “...A Jedi temple.”

_ Hm.  Interesting.  Might be able to get good intel while I recover, which’ll reduce my punishment-- _ Maul shivered, remembering pain.  “I’ve never been to one of those before.”

Qui-gon smiled.  “I’ll be glad to show you around.  Are you done eating?”

Maul looked longingly at his plate.  It was still practically full.  “...yes.  But I’ll need to eat again, soon.  My stomach can’t handle much food right now.”

“I understand.  Here, we can take the tray with us.”

\---

Maul sighed in relief once he was back in his bed.  Being jostled wheelchair had been hard on his back and ribs and made his head throb dully.   _ More like a needle.  A vibrating, shrill needle. _  The Jedi set Maul’s tray by a table to the left of him.  To Maul’s great disappointment, the Jedi did not leave.  Instead, he sat cross-legged at the end of Maul’s cot, looking at him.  The Zabrak frowned and shifted uncomfortably against the pillow.  He was propped up in a sitting position, a pillow wedged between his back and the headboard.

“Maul, you said you are Force-sensitive.”

_ Ah.  More questions.   _ “Yes, I am.  Why do you care?”  Maul tried to keep himself from sounding petulant, but failed.

The Jedi snorted, quietly.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing, it’s just that you told me you weren’t a child earlier.”

Maul felt his face flush with heat and he looked away.   _ I’m not that immature.  Master never would have tolerated a brat, and besides, the Jedi’s just trying to make me angry. _

“Anyway, I was wondering how long you were in Palpatine’s service.”  The Jedi’s gaze was boring into him, now.  Calm, not forceful, but threatening nonetheless.

“...I’ve been working for Mas--Senator Palpatine for as long as I can remember.”   _ True, that. _

The Jedi raised an eyebrow.  “I...see.  And Palpatine was responsible for your well-being and upbringing?”

“Yes.  Senator Palpatine generally relied on droids for most of my childhood--”  Maul cut himself off and gnawed on his lip nervously.   _ That was a bit too much information.  Hells, I’ve never been trained to withstand this type of questioning. _

“So the lashes on your thighs, back, and arms were his doing?”

Maul blanched, hearts starting to pick up pace.  “How did you--?!!”

The Jedi sighed.  “The medics mentioned that you had a nasty array of scars and healing wounds along your back, thighs, and upper arms.  They said the marks looked like lashes.”

Maul took a deep breath, trying to keep his hearts from stuttering in his chest.   _ Can’t panic. _  “...Yes.  I had failed a task and-- well--” Maul gestured with his hands.  “Received the proper punishment.”  

“Proper punishment?”  The Jedi looked incensed.  Maul shrunk back into his pillows.  “Proper punishment?!  That’s child abuse, Maul!”

Maul felt a wedge of anger bubble to the surface, then.  His face twisted into an ugly grimace.   _ How dare he.  How dare he!!  Master did what was necessary to train me, and if-- _

Maul screeched in rage and Force-flung his spoon at the insipid Jedi.  It clattered to the side uselessly, and the Jedi frowned.

“Maul--”

“FUCK YOU!! Do you think I ASKED for all that shit?!  Master did what was necessary to make me strong!!  And I AM strong!!!”

The Jedi’s shoulders sagged and he held up a hand.  Maul snarled, chest heaving, too irate to note the jagged pain from his ribs.

“Maul, I apologize.  I should not have lost my temper.”

The Zabrak crossed his arms, and remained silent.  Brooding.   _ Fuck you. _

“I’ll let you have some time to cool down.”  The Jedi inclined his head at Maul and strode from the room.

\---

Outside, Adi was waiting, arms crossed and leaning on the wall.  “Qui-gon,” she murmured as he hurried out, “I need to speak with you.”

Qui-gon turned.  “Adi.”  He bowed.  “I needed to talk with you as well.”

“Walk with me.”  Adi began to stroll down the hall.  “Qui-gon, you seem tense.  Was your discussion with the prisoner difficult?”

“Adi, he’s just a kid.  Don’t call him a prisoner.  Look, I asked him about Palpatine, and he got pretty tense, though he still answered me.  And when I clarified that Palpatine’s behaviour was child abuse, he snapped.  Maul was still angry when I left.  I find his defense of Palpatine’s behaviour vexing.  It’s as if he believes he deserved it.”

Adi sighed and put a hand on Qui-gon’s shoulder.  “If our informant is right-- and she almost always is,  _ don’t give me that look, Qui-gon _ \-- then that kid’s been trained all his life to be a Sith.  And his actions are telling us that he’s never really been nurtured.  So it’s understandable that he would buy into it.”

Qui-gon pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Fine,” he muttered, “but we still have got to figure out what to do with him once we reach the temple on Coruscant.”

Adi shrugged.  “Whatever the Council deems best.  Until then, we’ll just have to monitor him and make sure he doesn’t keep aggravating his wounds.”

Qui-gon nodded, and turned away.  “I’m going to rest in my quarters for a bit.”

“Wait, Qui-gon.”  Adi touched his arm.  “I just wanted to remind you that the Council explicitly asked for the prisoner to remain in his room.”

Qui-gon sighed.  “Adi, I only took him out of his rooms to eat.  I figured he could probably use a change of scenery.”

Adi snorted.  “Perhaps.  But in the future, be sure to bring his meals to him.”  She waved.  “Have fun resting.  Maybe meditate a bit.”

“I will.”

\---

Maul sat in bed fuming, arms crossed, staring at the white-tiled walls.   _ Fuck the Jedi.  Fuck him.  I hate that psssaffking bastard! _  A wave of vertigo convinced Maul to slide back under the covers and stare at the ceiling, cursing that  _ damn Jedi. _

Slowly, Maul’s thoughts unraveled.  He thought of Sidious, of his plan.   _ He won’t come to rescue me.  If I can’t get out on my own, I’ll deserve to rot alongside the Jedi. _

_ … _

_...I want to go home. _

Home.  Back to his bleak quarters in Sidious’s ship, to the mattress in the corner infested with mites (never once used: Maul had learned quickly that comfort only made punishments feel worse), to the rusted sink in the wall that had clean water and a dirty basin.  Back to knowing his place, back to constantly being on guard,  _ kind of like now but back there I only had to watch my step, I already knew what not to say, and here I have no idea.   _ Back to simplicity.

There were no more visitors for the rest of the day.

That night, Maul dreamed of a forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, this took longer than i expected to write. 
> 
> send me an ask on tumblr! pomodoriyum.tumblr.com


	3. things get hot like a hot potato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maul's less secretive than he thinks

The next day, Maul woke to the bright lights above his cot shining into his eyes.  He went rigid, eyes darting around, thinking--  _ is Master here? Am I going to be punished? Was this all some test, some game _ \--

Maul’s thoughts scramble to a stop when he sees the brown haired Jedi looming over his vision.  The Zabrak barely contains his instinctive gulp for air, and tries to conceal the hitching of his chest by sitting up.   _ Puts me in a less vulnerable position, anyway.  And I can grab a fistful of the idiot’s hair this way, too.   _ Maul spent a blissful moment imagining yanking the Jedi’s long locks, dragging his face down and snapping his neck with a violent wrench to the side.

“Good morning, Maul.”  The Jedi was polite as ever.

“...Why did you wake me up?”  Maul winced at the petulance in his tone, but the whine had already slipped out.   _ Works with my cover somewhat, at least.  Makes me sound my age. _

Qui-gon reached out and gently touched his hand to Maul’s shoulder. Maul went rigid.   _ Get your hands off me, Jedi. _

“Maul,” (Qui-gon’s voice was quiet, and Maul did not like the way it sounded-- too close to his Master’s withered speech, too close to reprimanding in tone) “I’m going to take you to the Jedi counsel now.  They are going to ask you some questions, and I want you to answer them honestly.”  Maul frowned.   _ I don’t like the idea of being interrogated, but...knowing the faces of the Jedi on the Council would be useful. _  The Zabrak nodded, and tried to make his voice small and weak.

“How long...how long do you think that will take?”

“I don’t know.  They’re very curious about you.”

Maul nods and casts his eyes downwards, gazing at the white linen sheets and running the cloth through his fingers.   _ Such a soft material.  Such a luxury. _

“The Council will meet with you off-ship.  We arrived on Coruscant yesterday anyway.”

Maul’s eyes almost narrow in distaste.   _ Coruscant, huh?  Well, at least it’s bustling.  More places to hide if I escape.   _ He corrected himself.   _ When I escape, that is. _

\---

To Maul’s great displeasure, he is again deposited in a wheelchair.  The Jedi’s explanation was that ‘your back is badly bruised and putting any sort of extra strain on it would damage your spine and we wouldn’t want that, now would we?’ (all crammed into one breath, and Maul spends a second admiring the Jedi’s lung capacity), but Maul  _ knows _ that he could walk on his own if he tried. Granted, he’d be in a lot of pain, but he could do it, and it would save him the humiliation of being wheeled about like an invalid (Master has always told Maul he’s too proud for his own good, but--)

The wheelchair turns a corner, and Maul is pushed into a large hall ( _ how _ they managed to get off ship and into this building confuses him, but Maul keeps his mouth shut.  It had probably been connected to the building somehow, like a tunnel, or an underpass).  He does his best to take deep breaths and remain calm, but he still clenches his hands when he came face-to-face with the entire Jedi Council.   _ The room is practically vibrating with the Force. _

He recognises a few faces already: there is the tall woman Qui-gon referred to as ‘Adi’, and a wrinkled green creature that Maul  _ thinks _ is the infamous Yoda.  The Zabrak shrinks back into his chair, feeling small.   _ I don’t like this. _

Qui-gon left Maul in the center of the room, crossing the Zabrak’s vision as he walked to sit in a chair positioned between a tall blue creature and a silvery-white being.  The back of Maul’s neck prickled, and his hand twitched involuntarily. _  I despise feeling this exposed. _

Yoda was the first to speak.  “Maul, your name is, correct?”

The Zabrak nodded, trying to keep his grip on the armrests from appearing tight and failing.

“Trained, have you, in the ways of the Force?”

Maul bit the inside of his lip, hesitating.   _ The Jedi will likely know if I lie…  _ “Some.”

The Jedi made a noise of interest and leaned forwards towards Maul.  “Oh…?”

Maul did not elaborate.   _ I’m sure the Jedi I attacked told them of my proficiency at hand-to-hand combat, too. _

The Jedi named Adi intervened, clicking her tongue and forgoing an introduction.  “Under who did you train?”  She looked genuinely curious, and the Zabrak fought the urge to scoff.   _ Now is not the time to anger them.  I am here to learn as much as I can, find their weaknesses. _

Maul shook his head, choosing his words slowly and deliberately.   _ I will not slip up now.   _ “Senator Palpatine hired instructors for lessons.  I learned combat from a young age.  There, I--”  Maul closes his eyes and takes a sharp breath, remembering (and does not see Qui-gon’s eyes narrow slightly),  “--I learned that I was Force-sensitive.  Meditation allowed me to concentrate on my education.”

“I do find it curious, however, that Senator Palpatine would have his errand boy trained in combat.”  Adi’s words are accusatory, and it is clear that she is suspicious.

Maul leveled his gaze at her.  “It was not my place to question the Senator.”

Adi blinked, and smiled like a shark scenting blood in the water (or, at least, that’s what Maul  _ thinks _ that expression meant).  “I never said it was.”   _ It was implied, though.  I’m not obtuse, whatever Master says. _

Qui-gon leaned forward, hands pressed together in his lap.  “Senator Palpatine had you call him ‘Master’, Maul.  Did that start before or after he discovered you were Force-sensitive?”

_ Shit.  Got to think fast _ \-- “I don’t remember.  I was very young when that began.”  Maul suppressed a growl of frustration, trying to clamp down on his temper before it got the better of him.   _ This is getting dangerous.  I need a cool head. _

“You mentioned that you entered his service-- what age?”  The question was pointed, icy, and  _ frustrating,  _ because Maul could  _ see _ where this was going, and he didn’t know how to redirect it _. _

The Zabrak shrugged.  “A few years ago.”

“How many?” (Maul decided that he hated Qui-gon the most-- the kriffing Jedi was too damn tenacious.  He spent a moment imagining the Jedi’s head on the floor, neck a bloody bright red against the grey tiles.)

“...Four, give or take a few months.”

“And you’re...what, ten?”

Maul bristled.   _ I hate being scrawny for my age. _  “I am twelve.”  He did his best to inject righteous fury into his voice.

“A temper, have you.”  Yoda’s voice gave Maul pause.   _ Shit, he didn’t sense my anger through the Force, did he?  That would hurt my cover… _

Maul pretended to look abashed (though his rage was something he prided himself on immensely-- it’d been carefully cultivated over the years).  He ducked his head.  “Yes.  I apologize, Master Jedi.”

“Never taught to control it, I see.”  The green Jedi looked pensive, leaning back in his chair.

_ Shit.  He probably knows.   _ Maul forced himself to shake his head.  “He tried, but I--”   _ I’ve always been angry.  Helped me with my training, at any rate. _

Adi blinked, slowly, and then asked, “Did the Senator ever disappear for long periods of time?”

“Not really,” Maul said, remembering an empty room and an empty stomach and endless nights of being alone.  The Zabrak did not notice that his hand twitched reflexively towards his belly, as if to shield it.  Qui-gon did.

“Hm,” Adi tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair.  “I think we’ll discuss this later.  Master Yoda?” 

The Jedi nodded.  “Talk more, we must.  Rest now.”

Qui-gon rose and made his way over to Maul.  “You did fine, Maul.”

The Zabrak nearly growled.   _ Don’t patronize me. _  “...it wasn’t so bad.”

The way back to Maul’s room was silent save for the whirring of the wheels on his wheelchair and the clicking noise produced by passing over tiles.

\---

Few minutes passed before Maul fell into a troubled sleep.

\---

The Zabrak woke again around midday, disoriented and feeling nauseous.  Maul closed his eyes against the bright light of the medical bay, wishing the Jedi could have at least had the kriffing courtesy to shut off the lights.  His stomach growled despite his queasyness, and Maul sat up, ignoring the lance of pain that went springing up his spine and instead rubbed at his temple horns ( _ as if that makes it any better,  _ he thought bitterly).  _  It’s noon.  ...I feel like shit....time to assess damages. _

Maul was still suspicious about what the Jedi had told him.  According to that bastard, Maul had used the Force to cushion his landing enough that he hadn’t died or lost his limbs, but the Zabrak  _ knew _ that the Force did no such things, especially when a force-user was panicking like he’d been.  Somehow Maul had survived, and it probably had more to do with his Master than whatever nonsense Qui-gon had spouted.  Maul removed the last of the bandages that swathed his torso.  His belly was sunken (like usual) and there were a few outlines of bruises from a couple days ago.   _ Training. _  Maul purposefully ignored the memories of a bloodstained mattress and rocks being driven into his shoulders.   _ Wistful thinking will get me nowhere. _

Maul twisted to look over his shoulder, grimacing.  His back was swollen with bruises and there was a large cut.   _ Looks like the rocks weren’t completely smooth after all. _

It wasn’t as bad as Maul had expected, honestly.   _ I should be back on my own two feet in no time.   _ Maul unclenched his back and gingerly lowered himself to rest on the mattress.   _ Better relax while I have a chance.  ...And I need to review the interrogation. _

Maul closed his eyes in meditation, remembering the ceremonial chamber with its pretty marbled floors and huge windows.   _ Someday I’m going to have a room like that-- _

He scowled at himself.   _ No.  I don’t deserve one, won’t deserve one.  Can’t have one. _

Maul released a breath to rid himself of the tension that had built up in his neck and hands.  Slowly, his fingers uncurled from their unconscious fist.  The Jedi’s faces swam before him in a murky veil-- Yoda, Adi, Qui-gon...the others were still nameless, their voices muted and indistinct. The veil twisted and turned, the darkness undulating and obscuring the Jedi, disfiguring their faces.

And then Maul was dreaming, because suddenly he could see through the walls to a woman dressed in white, caressing his forehead, touching him with her left hand even as her right put something shiny and sharp against his burning skin, and he wasn’t afraid,  couldn’t feel fear even as he struggled to wake.  His Master’s face swam before his, hard and cruel and cold, and his laughter reverberated through Maul’s skull.  There was pain and more pain and more until Maul couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream, couldn’t say a word even as he sobbed, silently sobbed without air, even though he hadn’t cried since he was six.  Then the darkness came, cold and pitch and sticky like oil and there were a thousand maggots crawling beneath his skin.

\---

When Maul woke, he was not alone in the Force.  Something bright and light was nearby, and he had to escape.  He tried to jerk to his feet, but failed as his limbs sagged deeper into the cot.  It took a few more seconds of struggling to realize it was of no use, and Maul conceded to gaze upwards and outwards.  The presence in the Force didn’t come any closer, and Maul tried to calm his hammering heart. 

... _ The ceiling is not white. _  It was instead a stony grey tile, and across from his cot (it took painful minutes to remember how to turn his head away from the ceiling) were iron bars.  The disturbance in the Force was not a foul creature like he’d expected, but rather a Jedi, standing guard in front of him.  Everything was fuzzy.   _ They must have drugged me _ , Maul thought belatedly.

_...so they know.   _

_ Fuck. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly moving plot forward, but hey! that's important to a story


	4. When times get tough throw an orange (or two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maul discovers that, in fact, he may not want to be a Sith quite so much after all. Well. Sort of.

It took three hours and fifteen minutes for the worst of the drugs to leave his system.  Maul knew because he had counted the seconds, making marks in the wall with his nails every sixty-counts that passed. One hundred ninety-five lines later, his vision stopped blurring and he’d been able to raise his arm above his body without forgetting what he was doing and why he was doing it.  Maul’s fingernails were torn and bloody from scratching the wall, but he didn’t care.  All that was important was the passage of time, the slow reduction of the drugs in his bloodstream, the return of the dull ache in his sternum, in his ribs.

Fifteen minutes after that, Maul turned his head to look through the bars of his cell.  A blond Jedi he didn’t recognize stood guard outside, staring at him with blank dead eyes from across the hall.  Maul shuddered.   _Eyes like those would kill me in a heartbeat._

 _...Although I ought to be used to it._  He thought of his master, for a few moments, then closed his own eyes hard and thought about something else, someone else, until the pinpricks of tears receded.  Maul wanted to be back with his Master, to some semblance of routine.

Time still seemed to pass oddly, but less skewed than before.  Maul decided that they must have given him a really strong anesthetic.  Like Ketamine*, or something.  He also decided (fuzzily) that the Jedi standing over him was a B-grade asshole, because he hadn’t helped when Maul’s arm had dropped over the side of his cot and he hadn’t had the strength to fight gravity to get it back up (although the Zabrak wasn’t sure if he’d actually voiced his need. Thus, B-grade instead of A-grade douche) …Not that Maul deserved the help, anyway.   _I don’t deserve anything but a long slow death…I blew my cover.  And now I can’t escape.  Because I’m worthless._

Another three hours passed (Maul counted them by making more marks in the wall, converting his lines into wobbly drunk X’s), and finally someone came.  He’d been expecting it sooner, because wasn’t it standard protocol to start interrogation as soon as possible?

Maul didn’t think he’d see Qui-gon again, but he was wrong ( _And aren’t you always?_ A voice whispered in his brain, taunting.)  The Jedi stood over him with his arms crossed, a frown on his face.

“Qui-gon,” Maul said, even as the Jedi began to speak.

The Jedi closed his mouth, and opened it again.  “Maul.  How are you feeling?”

Maul felt like a rug had been swept out from under his feet.   _How dare you ask me how I’m feeling after you imprisoned me?  When I’ve been so drugged that I can barely keep track of time?_  The Zabrak felt his lips get thin and straight in an angry line.  He turned his head away, glared at the stone grey wall.   _He does not deserve a response._

Maul felt the cot sag in the middle as the Jedi sat down.  “Maul, I’m sorry.”

The Zabrak flicked his gaze over to Qui-gon.  That stupid, insipid Jedi.  Maul stared right above the Jedi’s eyes, inspecting his eyebrows.   _I should strangle him.  He’s so close_.  But that was too much effort, and all Maul wanted to do was sleep until he wasted away into nothing.

“Maul,” Qui-gon began, quietly.  “I’m working on getting you out of here.”

The Zabrak closed his eyes.  His eyelids were nice and dark.  Calming.  Like the way his stuffy little room back on Mustafar was.

“And I want you to meet someone.  He’s a bit older than you, but I think you’d get along well.”

Maul growled.   _No, I won’t._

Qui-gon continued, as if Maul had said nothing.  “We’re going to fly off-planet to one of the Temples and meet him.  I’m sure the Council will let you out of this cell; you’re just a child.”

Maul felt his lip twitch downwards into a frown.  “Leave me.”  His voice was whispery and something was caught in Maul’s throat.   _Great.  More weakness._

Qui-gon put his hand on Maul’s arm, and although the Zabrak flinched, he did not remove his arm.  “I’m not going to leave you here.”  

Maul was too tired to be angry anymore.   _I don’t have the strength to be angry, although I ought to kill you.  Bastard.  Bastard._  “Fuck you.”  Everything was quiet and oppressive, and Qui-gon’s light was blinding, hurtful.  But Maul shouldn’t care about pain, should he?  He was used to it.

The Jedi sat by Maul’s side until the Zabrak had (slowly, grudgingly) fallen asleep.  Qui-gon looked up, across the cell through the bars to the Jedi with the cold dead eyes.  “I’ll take your next watch.”

“Yes, Master Qui-gon.”

\---

Maul’s first meal as a prisoner was uneventful.  Sandwich, vegetables, fruit, milk.  It was a lot to eat, but Maul saved what he couldn’t force into his stomach for later.   _Although they’re Jedi, I still don’t know if they’ll decide if I’m not worth feeding._

Qui-gon was a near-constant presence.  Maul found it both irritating and comforting at the same time.  He hated himself for looking forward to Qui-gon’s visits, but he also craved the consistency of them.  A dependable pattern was nice.   _Deadly, though._

Maul remained despondent until his fourth day in captivity, which was coincidentally his last.  Qui-gon cheerfully told Maul that he was going to be shipped off to one of the Jedi’s Temples the next day.

“Why?”

It was one of the few words Maul had said in the past four days, besides ‘no’ and ‘go away’.  Qui-gon looked puzzled.  “Well, Maul, you’re a kid.  And we can’t keep you locked away.  That’d be against our code.  You deserve a life where you’re not abused.”

Maul snorted and turned away from Qui-gon.  “Yes, and turn me into a pathetic little Jedi while you’re at it.  Don’t worry, it won’t work.”

Qui-gon sighed.  “I don’t expect you to become a Jedi.  You just need to...adjust.”

Maul closed his eyes again.   _I might be able to escape the temple.  After a few weeks, when they think they can trust me._  He still didn’t have the energy to feel properly enraged.   _What a pity._

\---

The Jedi Temple was...bright.  Very bright.  There were tall buildings and lots of open grass and few trees, and a constant wind that made Maul restless.  The breeze made him want to fight and tear and break and _run_.  But Qui-gon’s heavy hand was on his shoulder, guiding him towards one of the larger buildings of the complex, and Maul was still too sore and aching and slow to even consider biting the Jedi so he could flee.  Besides, there were opportunities here to pull young Jedi to the dark side, to learn the Jedi’s ways.  The more information Maul had the better, because his Master was vexed with him.  Disappointed.  Wrathful.  Maul could feel it in the way his bond throbbed late at night, could feel it in the big empty hole that was in chest.  He preferred not to think about it.

“Maul, your room is at the very top of this building.”

 _Bad for escape through the building.  Good for views.  And maybe I can sneak out of a window or something._  “Fine.”

“I’m going to escort you there.  We will eat lunch, and then I’ll take you on a tour of the facility.”

Maul nodded.  Qui-gon’s hand was still on his shoulder.  He noticed that there was almost no one in the building-- it seemed deserted, empty.

“Everyone is training right now.  I’ll be taking you to meet my padawan tomorrow.”

Maul scrunched his nose.   _You dumb fuck.  I’ll turn him.  Make him see the value of the Dark._  “Fine.”

Qui-gon sighed.  “And your back?”

 _Why do you even care??_  “Fine.  My muscles are working well enough.”

“Good.  Once your bruises fade I’ll let you practice some Jedi kata.”

Maul bristled.  “I don’t want to learn your damn katas, and I’m not going to do what you order me to.”

Qui-gon gave him a sideways glace.  “But you were happy letting Palpatine use you like a puppet.”

“He is my Master.  You are not.”  Maul had no problem letting his rage broadcast into the Force now that the Jedi knew who he was.

Qui-gon shook his head.  “Maul, you don’t need to get that upset.”

“Fuck you.”  There was no real heat behind the words, though.   _Despite my best...or rather, worst...intentions, I’m starting to like this bastard._  Maul bit his lower lip.   _And that’s bad, because I’m not allowed to form attachments, and I’m getting attached to him_ …

 _That’s right,_ whispered a voice from the back of his mind, _it’s because you’re a failure.  Too weak.  Pathetic._ Maul didn’t notice when his hearts started to pick up pace, when his breathing started to get fast, and before he could completely become aware of it he was panicking, and it was not beautiful or controlled or any of those things, because the world was spinning and fuzzy and muted and yet somehow altogether _far too much_.

\---

When Maul finally stops hyperventilating ( _weak_ , chimed the cracked voice in his head, _you weakling, you’re helpless, you pathetic fool…_ ), and opens his eyes, he found himself being held close to Qui-gon’s chest.  His first impulse was to jerk away, but Qui-gon was so warm, and held him so carefully (as if he were precious, delicate) that he instead focused on the Jedi’s breathing.   _I shouldn’t be doing this-- shouldn’t be allowing this--_

“Maul,” Qui-gon says, and Maul startles, because his voice is loud in the hallway’s emptiness.  “Maul,” he repeats, “you’re going to be okay.”

Maul swallows, hard, and then pushes himself away from the Jedi.  Qui-gon lets him go without resistance.  “Yes,” he replies, but his voice is strangled and _wrong_ .   _I hate panic attacks_ , Maul thinks, and then: “I had a panic attack?  I’m-- I’m-- not allowed, I can’t, it’s weak--” and just like that he’s spiralling down again, except that this time Qui-gon is pulling him forward into a hug, and suddenly Maul can take a breath again, because _it will be okay_.

Maul shudders.

Two minutes later, and he’s together again.

Qui-gon is watching him, wearily, as if he expects Maul to burst into tears.  “Maul?”

“I’m fine,” he says brusquely.

“No, you’re not ‘fine’.”  For the second time since Maul has known Qui-gon, the Jedi sounds angry.  He wants to shrink away from him, but he doesn’t.  Because Maul, if nothing else, is brave.   _And showing fear is one way to get ripped to shreds really fast_.

“Maul, really-- what happened?”

Maul blinks, somewhat angry.  “Isn’t it obvious? I had a panic attack.”

“Okay, yes, I got that, but--” (here Qui-gon makes a confused flopping motion with his hand) “--why?  What was the trigger?”

Maul bit his lip, again, hard enough to draw blood.  Qui-gon’s eyes narrow.  “Don’t do that.”

The Zabrak ignored him.  “It was my fault.  I was dwelling on things that…”  He shakes his head.  “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not ‘nothing’, Maul.”  Qui-gon heaves a sigh.  “I’m going to get you to your room.”

Maul nods and closes his eyes again.  He has no idea how they make it to his room, because he’s too upset to focus on the route.   _A mistake_ , he chides himself, even as the hallways glide past.  But Maul is finding it difficult to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Ketamine is actually pretty cool, because while it knocks someone unconscious, their bodies still respond to stimulus (i.e., their eyes will be open, etc).
> 
> Haha, yeah, Qui-gon has no idea what to do with Maul. He’s...difficult. And delicate. Like broken glass.  
> And, uh, this fic is super self-indulgent. Consider it a vent piece. Also this chapter acts as a way to drag Maul closer to meeting Obi-wan. Next chapter should be their first interactions!


	5. things do not go well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> maul meets obi. obi meets maul. they hate each other. qui-gon is the awkward mediator.

It is hard to get out of the bed in the morning.  This mattress is even more comfortable than the hospital bed or the cot in his cell, and though Maul  _ knows _ he doesn’t deserve this kind of luxury, he finds it difficult to move (he is far too drowsy, and he really shouldn’t be-- yesterday he did nothing taxing).  The bed is just so  _ soft _ , and has a pleasing smell, one that is clean and free of the must that comes from spilled blood or stale urine.  With the scratchy wool blanket it is incredibly warm, too, and Maul sleeps in late because he can’t help but feel safe in the nest (despite the knowledge that he really isn’t).   _ I can hide in here if I have to.  And it’d be easy enough to untangle myself from these blankets to fight off intruders. _  What finally gets Maul out of the bed is a growing sense of unease and the knowledge that such a bed is a privilege he cannot afford.  It is too good for him.   _ I don’t deserve this. _  Still, it takes much too long for Maul to wipe the crusty sleep away from his eyes.

Maul does not get dressed immediately after getting out of bed.  Instead, he begins to search his room for threats.  He knows he ought to have looked the night before– so he wouldn’t sleep in a potentially dangerous area– but he’d been too exhausted to bring himself to care. If he died, he died.   _ I am not afraid of death.  _

The walls were smooth pale blue brick. Furniture was minimal, moved out in a hurry–Maul could see indents where a dresser once stood, the imprints of a chest of drawers on the floor, the faint scuff marks from dragging something heavy across the floorboards. His bed was freshly bolted to the floor, wood shavings still sitting wilted around the legs of the bed. There was a single window, high and too small to wiggle out of.  _ Damn. _ Maul pursed his lips.

The door led to a bathroom, which was bare save for a single towel on top of the toilet. Maul opened the cabinet to find a bar of soap, a stick with bristles of flimsi on the end and a small tube mysteriously labeled ‘toothpaste’.  He remembered seeing similar items scattered in bathrooms on some of his missions, but he’d never had the chance to inspect them before.  Maul unscrewed the lid and sniffed at the tube suspiciously.  The scent of artificial mint assaulted his nostrils, and the Zabrak put it away quickly.  The mint smell lingered in the air cloyingly.   _ Whatever the hell that is, I don’t like it. _

Maul ran his fingers along the grooves of the cabinet, searching for buttons or hidden levers. He found none, feeling torn between relief and disappointment.  _ At least the Jedi are not being aggressive...yet.   _ He thought back to the window above his bed-- perhaps he could widen it enough that he could slip his shoulders through.  And then he’d be able to escape.  Maul sighed.   _ I will need to find a file so I can wear away the brick.  It will take a long time. _

Qui-gon appeared carrying a plate of food sometime after Maul has gotten dressed and started his morning meditations.  Maul smelled the food well before he could hear Qui-gon’s footsteps.  The Zabrak’s stomach growled, and Maul pursed his lips, sitting up straighter from his cross-legged position on the floor, pulling the Force around him like a dark cloak.   _ I must meditate. _

Qui-gon enters the room noisily.  “Maul,” he announces, “I brought breakfast.”

Maul feels a flush of annoyance at the disturbance and cracks open an eye to glare at him.  “I am busy.”

Qui-gon observes Maul’s sitting position on the floor.  “Meditating?”

“Obviously,” Maul hisses.  “I’m not hungry.”  His stomach, traitorously, makes a noise like a dying whale.  Maul closes his eyes and sighs loudly.  _ Stupid Jedi.  Ruining my meditation. _

The Jedi looks at Maul with something close to pity, and Maul represses the urge to hit him, instead visualizing (not for the first time) Qui-gon’s death throes.  “Eat.”

Maul grumbles but takes the plate from Qui-gon’s hands.  “Fine.”

After a few minutes of watching Maul eat in silence, Qui-gon opened his mouth.  “I am going to introduce you to my padawan today.”

Maul felt his mouth go dry, but finished swallowing a strawberry anyway. “Fine.”

“We’ll leave after breakfast.”

“Fine.”

“Maul…?”

“What.” 

“Nevermind.”  The Jedi smiled, and Maul nearly growled.  Instead, Maul narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Fine.”

\---

Qui-gon’s padawan is clumsy and tall and suspicious like his master.  He eyes Maul like the Zabrak is a rabid animal.  Maul bristles.  He does not like him.   _ Although the fear in his eyes is good. _

Qui-gon, of course, seems oblivious to the tension in the room.  “Obi-wan,” he says. “This is Maul.”

Obi-wan looks down his nose to meet Maul’s eyes.  “Hi.”

Maul snarls.  Obi-wan seems offended, and the Force jerks in time with his emotions.   _ Ah. _  Maul’s eyes widen a bit.   _ He is strong.   _ But the Force settles again, smothered by Obi-wan’s years of Jedi training.   _ What a waste of potential.   _ Qui-gon is frowning.

“Maul,” Qui-gon sighs, “be polite.”

Maul simply glares at him.

Obi-wan turns to Qui-gon, and says, as if Maul were not there, “Master, he is a  _ child _ .”

Fury races through Maul, and as Qui-gon opens his mouth to reply, Maul snaps, “I am  _ twelve _ !”

Obi-wan looks at Maul again, disdain evident on his delicate face.  “ _ Exactly. _  You’re  _ twelve. _ ” And again to Qui-gon, “See, Master? He’s a kid.”

“Obi-wan, we’ll have this conversation later.  For now I need you to do what I asked.”

Obi-wan looked mutinous for a moment, and then sighed.  “Yes, Master.”

Maul was suspicious.   _ What did he ask him to-- oh.   _ Maul swallowed down his panic, because  _ he had no weapon, _ and crouched, ready to defend himself.  Because  _ of course _ Qui-gon was going to have Obi-wan fight him, because he’d tricked Maul into trusting him, and students fought each other to the death to be trained, because that was just how it was,  _ wasn’t it? _

Qui-gon, sensing the sudden flicker in the Force that indicated Maul’s intent, turned right as the Zabrak launched himself towards Obi-wan.

Maul registers Obi-wan’s widening eyes before sinking his fist deep into the padawan’s abdomen.  Obi-wan’s breath goes out of him in a rush of air, and Maul can feel his chest stuttering even as the Zabrak is spinning away from him, ready for the padawan’s counterattack, blinking the afterimage of brown cloth from his eyes.  

Something grabs Maul’s shoulder, and he yanks himself away.  Obi-wan is still recovering his breath, barely on the defensive.   _ The padawan is terrible, _ Maul thinks as he twists around to face his new ene--

_ Qui-gon…? _  The Jedi was yelling something, but Maul can barely hear it over the pounding of adrenaline in his veins.  And Maul was moving again, away from the Jedi and towards his padawan, because if  _ he _ wasn’t going to attack then Maul was.  But then the Force solidified around Maul, slowing his limbs, and Maul fought it, pushed the smothering brightness away with a wall of darkness.  He was getting closer and closer to Obi-wan, readying a kick that’d knock the padawan sideways, but suddenly Maul was colliding with a solid curtain of light.  He bounced off of it, only to hear Qui-gon’s voice--

“STOP!” 

And Maul froze, trembling.

The world came back into focus.  Qui-gon was panting, holding up a hand that was compressing the air around Obi-wan into a solid wall.   _ Ah, _ Maul thought,  _ that is what I ran into _ .  The padawan was wheezing and holding his stomach, glaring at Maul like he’d skin him alive if he could.  Maul growled, low in his throat.   _ How dare he threaten me. _

“Maul,” Qui-gon demanded, “why?”  His voice sounded dangerous, on edge, and Maul knew that if he answered this wrong he’d be shuttled back to his cell with his moldy cot.  Maul swallowed.

“I thought--” he paused. “Isn’t it normal to choose the strongest?”

“What?” The Jedi was confused.   _ Good, I can-- _ “Maul, that’s not-- what are you talking about?”

“The Master chooses the apprentice who survives.”   _ True, too.  I’ve had to fight to keep my place before.   _ Maul shuddered, remembering the blood.

Now Qui-gon was angry.  “We could’ve  _ killed _ you, Maul!  I almost grabbed my saber!”

Maul bared his teeth.  “Master taught me not to fear death.”   _ There are far worse things _ .

“Maul…” Qui-gon sighed. “That is not the way of the Jedi.”

“I’m no Jedi.” Maul’s voice was rough.  “The Jedi are  _ weak. _ ”

Qui-gon pursed his lips.  His shoulders were tense, and Maul could  _ taste _ the frustration he was so carefully concealing.  “We are going to meditate now to let go of our anger.”

Another spark of fury lanced through Maul, and he curled his hand into a fist.  “I am not yours to teach.”

Qui-gon closed his eyes as if summoning patience.  “True. But you are here now.  Would you rather sit in your room and do nothing at all?”

Maul nearly laughed.  “So if I do something bad I get sent to my room like a dog?” He noticed the way Obi-wan was eyeing him now, with a mix of weariness and pity.  It was suddenly too much. “Take me back,” Maul said, abruptly, knowing the answer.

Qui-gon blinked. “Take you where?”

“Back. To Mandalore.”

“Maul--”

“You don’t understand.  I have to get back.” Maul could feel the tugging, then, at the base of his skull, the bond with his Master, throbbing--

Understanding dawned on Qui-gon’s face.  “Ah.  I see.” Qui-gon shook his head.  “We cannot allow that to happen.”

Maul’s bond throbbed again, painfully.   _ I have to get back.  Master is so angry… _

Obi-wan looked disturbed. “Your master  _ abused _ you, Maul--” He quieted when Qui-gon sent him a quelling look.

“Maul, I can’t take you back.” Qui-gon’s voice was gentle, now, and Maul hated him for it.

“Why? Because of your codes? Can’t you just--” His bond had gone quiet.  It felt dead, and Maul was quiet from the shock of it.

Qui-gon narrowed his eyes.   _ No doubt he knows something’s wrong. _ “Maul, I’m going to take you back to your room now.”

“Fine.” Maul felt his eyes shutter and his shoulders drop out of their defensive position.  He was prodding at his bond, but it remained a solid, blank weight in his brain.   _ This is not good. _

“Obi-wan, you should go meditate and clear your mind.  I will find you in the gardens.”

“Yes, Master.”  Obi-wan bowed and left.  Maul sneered at him.  

This time, Maul memorized the pattern of corridors to get to his room.   _ I will plan my escape. _

_ This time, I will not fail. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter took a while. it was fun to write tho i didn't edit it. let me know if there are any spelling mistakes that i missed. thanks


	6. the great escape, and other things

It took days before Maul had the chance to enact his escape plan.  He’d used his evenings mapping out escape routes in his head--the idiot Jedi walked him around the temple twice a day, ‘for exercise’--under the guise of meditation.  Maul trained in the off hours of the day, while Qui-gon was away with his padawan (or missions, or  _ something _ ) and the time loomed long and boring.  He did his katas, and meditated, and ran through his katas  _ again _ , and then slept (briefly), and then did  _ more  _ katas, because there was nothing else to do and Maul’d be _ damned _ before he wasted his training growing lazy.

His idea was this: after dark, past when the rumbling shipments of food (?) arrived on the complex and everything became silent, he was going to board one of the Jedi’s freighters.  Then he’d steal right out from under the Jedi’s noses, and enter the coordinates to Coruscant.  There he’d disappear into the crowds, untraceable and  _ safe _ .  And finally he’d be able to contact his Master.

But for now Maul sat on the ground with his legs crossed and arms on his knees, breathing deep and slow, trying to find his bond.  Because in the days that had passed, the bond had remained quiet, and a heavy sense of unease settled at the base of Maul’s skull, whispering fear into his ear.   _ You’re officially useless, now.  Even Master knows.  You’ve never been able to keep secrets from him, have you? _

The base had long grown silent and still. Maul’s breath hitched and he opened his eyes.

He stood.   _ It’s time. _

\---

Maul was in the hangar when alarms started to blare.   _ Guess they finally noticed the giant smoking hole in my door _ , Maul thought wryly.  He began to fiddle with the keypad to the freighter.   _ I should have a minute or so. _  Finally,  _ finally _ , it lights up green with a beep and the door to the ship glides open.  Maul darts inside, noting the narrow corridors and the low light.   _ Good for hiding. _

He is about to turn and look for the door’s closing mechanism when he hears footsteps up the corridor.  His pulse jumps in his throat, and Maul backs away on silent feet.  The footsteps are heavy, probably from a large ambling being,  _ untrained _ , Maul thinks,  _ and unless they’ve got a blaster I can probably take them. _  He ducks behind the shadow of a large crate and waits for his prey.

The thudding sound of the feet pause, presumably to listen to the blare of the alarms outside.  Then there’s a grunt and a snap, and suddenly white light pours out of the lamps.  Maul nearly hisses as his shadowy corner is illuminated.  Then the heavy footsteps resume, and to Maul’s heady relief, stomp down the ramp leading to the ship.  The durasteel doors snap shut and Maul’s shoulders drop, just for a moment, before he remembers,  _ oh, there are probably more of them on-ship. _ And then:  _ shit!! They’ve gone to report! _

He rushes up the corridor (there is no one else-- no sounds on board at least), to what he senses is the cockpit.  He’s right (and  _ of course I’m right _ , Maul thinks smugly, because  _ what else _ was his training for?)  Maul peers out of the viewport and curses.  There are Jedi outside, inspecting each ship, and before Maul can duck he sees Qui-gon look up and  _ see _ him.  He gestures to the ship, shouting something that Maul cannot hear inside the silent ship.

_...Fuck. No use trying to hide now.  _

Maul begins flicking through the startup sequences. “Come on, come on,  _ c’mon, _ ” Maul urges the ship to  _ wake up _ faster.  As one of the displays blinks to life, the sound of ripping metal pierces Maul’s ears.  “Fuck!”  _ That was the door! _

Maul slams his fist onto the control panel, and twists to close the door to the cockpit.  It slams shut with finality, cutting off the echoes of the tortured metal into a deadly quiet.  Maul takes a shaky breath.  He has no idea how the ship will handle a jump to space with a breach in the door.   _ Hopefully the cockpit door will hold.  Or else I’ll be dead. _

The control panel chimes softly, startup sequences finished.  Maul reaches for ignition and the engine sputters to life.  Something heavy hits the cockpit door, and Maul jumps in his seat.  He takes a steadying breath.   _ I still have time. _  Maul is about to hit the button for hyperspace when he realizes the hangar doors are closed.   _ Shit! _

_...I guess I’ll see if the ship’ll just burst through it. _

Maul closes his eyes and smacks the button.

For a small moment there is silence, and then--

then, the Jedi burst through the door with a shout and the panel buzzes and Maul’s eyes are open and he’s reaching for the manual override ( _ yes, I KNOW the hull’s been breached, just get me out, I don’t care if I die I want OUT) _ when his hand is jerked back, and he’s shrieking in rage, because  _ I was almost free and now you’re back and-- _

Qui-gon wrestles him to the floor, crushing and heavy.  Maul heaves, trying to throw him off, and when nothing happens except that his arms are pinned ( _ a stupid mistake _ ) he bares his teeth and  _ bites. _

Qui-gon’s answering yelp is profoundly satisfying.  Maul’s head slamming into the metal floor is much less satisfying, and the pain makes things blurry and soft for a moment.  Then reality’s back screaming in his face, and Maul kicks, trying to dislodge the Jedi.

“Master!” someone cries, and Maul recognizes the voice of Kenobi.

Maul manages to get one of his hands loose to yank at Qui-gon’s hair--  _ I can finally break his neck like I want. _  The Jedi’s hand goes over Maul’s eyes and he hears a whisper of, “I’m sorry,” before his head is slammed into the ground hard enough that his knees go weak.  Then the Force is there, bright and blinding. Consciousness flees, and Maul’s eyes go wavering shut.

\---

When Maul wakes his head is pounding.  He whimpers, low in his throat, and then curses himself for being so weak.

_ I can’t believe I let them catch me.   _

He forces his eyes open.  The light is low, and he’s in the bed in his room.  It’s soft and warm.   _ Not that I deserve it. _  There’s a glass of water on a tray, and Qui-gon is watching him pensively from the corner.  He has a bandage wrapped around his pointer finger, and Maul can vaguely remember trying to break it right before passing out.

“You’re awake,” he says.

There is a long pause.  “...yes.”  Maul can’t quite summon the anger he was feeling during their fight.  It’s petered out, somehow, and Maul isn’t sure whether he’s happy about it or not.   _ Master would think it’s a fault in my training, and it is, but _ \-- 

_...I don’t mind. _

“Why did you try and escape, Maul?”

Maul blinked at the Jedi, still feeling sleepy and dizzy.  “That’s a stupid question.  You  _ know _ why.”

“...You’re right.”  Qui-gon frowns.  “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Maul gives him a wry look.  “After banging my head on the ground repeatedly?”

For the first time in a while, Qui-gon looks uncomfortable.  Maul finds it disconcerting, which in and of itself is a bit skewed somehow, considering-- “I’m sorry about that.  I tried to use the Force at the end, but...I never should have lost my temper like that.”

Maul sighs.  His near-permanent anger is still missing, like it’d been bashed out of his skull.  He feels uneasy.  “You’d’ve made a good Sith, had the Jedi not gotten their stinking claws into you.”

“Hmph.” Qui-gon says.

There is another silence, almost comfortable.  Maul takes a relaxing breath, allowing his chest to expand and stretch to the max.

“Where’d you get the gunpowder?  Doors don’t just blow up.”

Maul smiles wickedly.  The explosion had been one of his favorite things to plan out.  “It wasn’t gunpowder.  Did you know that the electrodes in the door can be overwhelmed by deposits of sulfate?”

Qui-gon stiffens.  “And where, pray tell, did you get sulfate?”

Maul’s smile grows wider.  “It doesn’t help when you put bleach on it either.  Makes a rather...explosive...mix.”

Qui-gon groans and puts his face in his hands.  “Force damn it, Maul, you’re too smart for your own good.”

Maul snorts at him.  “Stupid Jedi,” he says.

A few more moments pass, and Qui-gon looks up.  “I’m going to bring you something to eat.”

Words catch in his throat, so Maul merely nods.  And then he feels weak and pathetic.   _ I’m such a damned fool. _

Once the Jedi leaves the room, Maul has the dull realization that Qui-gon had treated him as an equal.  He frowns, hands fisting in the sheets.   _ I don’t deserve that kind of respect, not after I failed to escape yesterday.  Only a fool would think I did well enough. _

\---

Maul was  _ bored _ .  There was absolutely nothing to do.  Since his attempted escape, Maul’d been locked up tight.  He wasn’t allowed to leave his room (although Qui-gon snuck him out a few times, which struck him as odd, but Maul didn’t complain.  The chance to stretch his legs in the yard was too good to miss.)  By midmorning each day he’d completed his katas nearly four times, and the afternoon was mostly meditating, searching fruitlessly for a way to reawaken his bond with his Master.

 The processes was frustratingly slow, because Maul could only ever begin to  _ feel _ the cold dead spot where the bond has used to sit heavy in his belly after  _ hours _ of deep meditation.  He was no good at meditation-- never had been, really-- and because of his lack of skill he made no progress.  Maul hated it, hated  _ himself _ , but that was of no use.  The anger didn’t make the bond pulse with life.  Pain didn’t either.  And sadness was a bust.

_ I need a mission.  Right now, I don’t have a purpose and...it’s wrong.  I NEED a purpose, a mission, because otherwise I am worthless. _

Maul bit his lip.   _ I just have to try and escape again.  There’s no other way.  _

_...I miss Master.  I want my simple life back. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed this! it was actually fun to write a lot of this dialogue, especially because maul says "you'd've"
> 
> please let me know what you like about the fic! and always feel free to send me questions to @pomodoriyum.tumblr.com/ask


	7. Maul gets to Suffer™

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maul has a lot of very long days ahead of him.

“Obi-wan,” Qui-gon began, and Kenobi  _ knew _ that look in his Master’s eyes (it was the same gleam he’d get right before convincing the Council to give him permission to do something quasi-illegal), and thought,  _ Dammit, Master, what scheme have you cooked up this time? _

“I want you to spend some time with Maul.”

Obi-wan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Why?  I know he’s your favorite charity project, but...”

“Don’t whine, Obi-wan, it’s unbecoming.”  His Master’s tone was reproachful.  “Maul’s very lonely. He needs someone to talk to besides me.”

Obi-wan gave his Master a desperate look.   _ Anything but that arrogant brat… _  “I know he’s been abused, but why can’t you get someone closer to his own age for him to talk to?”

Qui-gon narrowed his eyes.  “You know perfectly well why, padawan.  I’d never let Maul anywhere  _ near _ the creche-- he’d probably end up killing someone.”

“Oh, so you’ll set him on me instead?  Because I’d rather not have to fight him again!  ...He’s just a kid anyways, I couldn’t hit him without feeling bad.”  Obi-wan was frustrated, and it was bleeding over into his tone.

“Don’t let your emotions control you, Obi-wan.  I’m asking you to do this for Maul’s own good-- and yours.”  Qui-gon put a hand on Obi-wan’s shoulder.  “Please.”

_ Hmph, as if you’re being totally neutral here.   _ “Fine,” snapped Obi-wan, “but I’m not gonna be left alone with that little monster.”  

Qui-gon nodded.  “That’s fair.  Thank you, Obi-wan.  I know this is hard.”

Obi-wan bit his lip and said nothing.

\----

Maul’s headache from his unlucky escape didn’t leave him until a week later.  The back of his head was one big nasty bruise, and Maul was honestly surprised that his parietal horns had not snapped or cracked under the pressure.   _ He can say he’s peaceful all he likes,  _ Maul thought venomously,  _ but Qui-gon Jinn is a menace. _

But the Jedi was the only one keeping him company.  The Jedi Council had sentenced him to solitary confinement in his rooms.  Most of his bathing equipment and toiletries had been confiscated.   _ Not that I wanted any of that stuff anyway.   _ Maul wrinkled his nose in particular at the memory of his toothpaste.   _ Good riddance. _

Maul was meditating, and ruminating on his next escape plan.   _ They cannot hold me here forever.   _ Although recently, a little voice had been whispering in his head,  _ yes, they can, because you are weak and useless, like some spoilt pet _ .  Maul tried to ignore it, but there had been an itch growing under his skin, one that was impossible to be rid of, try as he might to meditate it away.

Maul wanted  _ out  _ with a desperation he was too afraid to name.

Qui-gon normally showed up around noon with Maul’s lunch, but today, he was late.  Maul hadn’t eaten his breakfast, and his stomach felt uncomfortably empty, and as he ignored it he cursed himself for becoming soft.   _ I’ve starved myself before.  It really isn’t that hard-- it’s basic training! _  Maul decided to meditate the pain away.

Qui-gon turned up two hours later.  Maul’s belly was cramping at the smell of his food.

Maul opened his eyes and glowered at Qui-gon accusingly.  “You’re late.”

Qui-gon smiled a little unsurely, setting the food tray down.  “I apologize, Maul.”

Maul almost flinched.  (his Master would  _ never _ apologize to Maul, because Maul was not worth even the dirt on his Master’s shoes, and--) “I do not care.  What do you want?”

Qui-gon blinked.  “Is something bothering you, Maul? I bring you lunch every day.”

Maul glared and didn’t bother responding.   _ Qui-gon isn’t stupid, despite what he likes to pretend. _  He stalked to where his food was on the ground, and sat with a huff.  He began to eat under Qui-gon’s watchful eye.  As usual, the food was impeccable. It was so rich-tasting he nearly felt sick--so many flavors, mixing together--it was tasty, but Maul ached for the bland food of home. Maul also wanted to scream, because Qui-gon’s scrutiny was making him nervous as hell. _  I need to get out of this place, before it chokes me in its idiotic kindness. _

“Maul,” Qui-gon said, softly, “I was planning to go out with you today.  I’d like for you to meet with my padawan again.”

“Oh, because we hit it off so  _ well _ last time, didn’t we?”  Maul did not like this plan.  Qui-gon’s padawan was an inexperienced weak child.   _ Besides, he’s arrogant. _

“Maul,” Qui-gon said, and Maul’d have to be an idiot to miss the quiet reprimand in his tone, “don’t you want to get out of this room, at least?”

Maul huffed.  “Don’t ask stupid questions, Jedi.”  He swallowed his mouthful of mashed somethings.  It was creamy.  “When are we leaving?”

Maul saw the edge of a smile tugging at Qui-gon’s mouth, and he wanted to take his words back and choke on them.   _ How dare he smile at me, when he’s keeping me caged!! _

\---

It was sunny and bright and hot outside of the complex, and Maul relished it.  The air was so  _ full _ here, not like the dry clean air inside the temple.  Maul breathed deep-- there was the smell of dust, and plants, and under all that the smell of something moldy.  It was  _ wonderful _ .  Maul almost couldn’t help his grin.

“Well, you certainly  _ look _ more relaxed than the last time we met.”

Maul’s good mood evaporated almost instantly.  “Kenobi.”

The padawan crossed his arms, looking superior.  Maul wanted to hit him again.  “Nice to see you too, kid.”

Maul growled.  “I’m not a  _ child. _ ”   _ If he calls me that one more time I’ll rip out his throat with my teeth. _

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”  Obi-wan rolled his eyes.  

“Obi-wan,” Qui-gon said, “enough.”  Maul narrowed his eyes.   _ Qui-gon seems to be taking my side...that’s good. _

“Now,” Qui-gon smiled (it was somewhat strained, Maul noticed), “we are going to meditate.”

Maul bristled.   _Not this again! I told him he’s not going to teach me any of that Jedi bullshit_ _!_

Obi-wan looked equally uncomfortable.  “Master--”

“No.  Both of you, sit.”

Obi-wan sat, and looked at Maul apprehensively.  Maul sneered at him, standing.   _ Stupid-- _

But suddenly, there was a heavy weight pressing on his shoulders.  Maul jumped in place and shoved Qui-gon away from him, breathing hard.   _ I didn’t even notice him...when did he sneak behind me? ….Have I really grown that oblivious? _

Qui-gon was smiling. Maul itched to hit him.  “If you want to know how to disguise your Force signature, instead of suppressing it, now is the time.”

Maul gave Qui-gon a long hard look and considered.   _ He means that if I don’t do what he says I won’t be allowed to leave my room again.  Which means...if I do what he says, we’ll come outside more often.  And that’ll give me more opportunities to escape. _  “...fine.”

Maul sat cross-legged and tense. 

“Relax,” Qui-gon said.  “And breathe.  Merge into yourself.”

Maul squinted at the ground.   _ Jedi are experts in speaking poodoo.  ‘Merge into yourself’? That makes no sense. _

Across from him, Obi-wan took a deep breath, and his Force presence diminished by half.  Maul’s eyes widened.   _ Oh.  I see now. _

\---

It took Maul a few days to master the Jedi technique.  Longer than usual, but that was just because Maul tended to disguise his presence by smothering it--his old training was deeply ingrained, and all he wanted to do was use rage to shield himself like a blanket.  But Maul managed, eventually.  Qui-gon looked relieved.  Kenobi, disturbed.   _ I do not care what Kenobi thinks.  His master is teaching me techniques that I WILL turn against them. _

Maul did not like thinking about the implications of Qui-gon teaching him-- but Maul rationalized that he was learning how best to beat the Jedi-- you know,  _ keep your friends close but your enemies closer _ .  

He still could not find his bond with his Master.  It was a dead heavy spot in his mind that ached at nights.  In his dreams it was ashy and thick like smog.  Half the time, Maul felt like he was being strangled.  The other half he was an empty shell, parroting Qui-gon.  Something was  _ off _ , and Maul didn’t know how to fix it.

\---

Weeks passed.  Maul thought of escape no less often, but with less certainty.  Where before he was convinced he’d escape, now, he felt as if he’d  _ never _ escape.  He was penned in, like some wild creature, and it made him… confused.  Angry and desperate, yet somehow detached.  He was in a dream.  Everything was fuzzy and muted.  Sooner or later, he would wake up.

\---

Maul did not wake up.  He found himself pacing through training exercise after training exercise.  Kenobi laughed at him.  He laughed at Kenobi.  Qui-gon hovered, nervously, and after a while, proudly.

He’d been feeling guilty for a while.  Guilty for the small warm thing in his chest, his throat.  Guilty for the way he let the Jedi order him around.  Guilty for the times he broke down sobbing for no known reason, for letting Qui-gon hold him like he was the only thing precious in the world.  For his brief shiny happiness.  For his complacency.  For the very air he breathed.

_ I do not deserve this. _  Those thoughts haunted him.  Master, who he wanted to run back to and yet didn’t know how, and yet...Maul could not bring himself to try.  He was hidden away from him.

Except in his dreams.  Oh, his Master was  _ there _ , _ waiting, _ with his wrinkled hands and electric spark and a voice like a whip.

Maul dreamed of him every night, and one day, woke up with tears still drying on his face.

He did not know what to do.  So he rolled back over and closed his eyes and wished his Master  _ away. _

It was the first time in a long time that Maul did not want to go back.  And it was the first time in a long time that his Master did stay  _ away _ .

Qui-gon called it progress.  Maul wasn’t quite so sure.

\---

Some days later, during a particularly stressful meditation, Maul broke down.  He’d been remembering his Master, and his training, and the taste of iron in his mouth, and suddenly his breathing was all  _ wrong. _  Kenobi had been sitting across from him, and he was too shocked to react.  Qui-gon was the one to touch his shoulder, ignore Maul’s instinctive yank backwards, and pull him close.

“Hey,” he said, “Maul, you’re okay.  You’re gonna be okay.  You’re in the temple now, and we’re gonna protect you.”

_ I don’t need protection _ is Maul’s instinctive response, but the words stick in his throat and he made a wailing sound instead.   _ Pathetic. _

Obi-wan was standing awkwardly in the background, too timid to do anything but too awkward to leave.  Maul’s nose was dripping into Qui-gon’s cloak.  It’s rough and wooly and scratchy, but the feeling of the cloth grounds him.

He was not with Sidious.  Sidious would never wear such colors, such fabric.  Only silk or other smooth materials.   _ Wool, _ Sidious had told him once,  _ is for those who scrabble in the dirt like dumb animals. _  At the time Maul had believed him wholeheartedly.

But now the scratchy-soft-musty-smelling wool was all that kept him grounded.  That, and Qui-gon’s arms, rocking him.

Maul did not look Kenobi in the eyes for days after, feeling ashamed and angry.

Kenobi is kinder than usual.

Maul hates him, but he hates Qui-gon Jinn even worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chap has less action, but a lot of character development, which is super important for where i;m planning for this story to go. please leave a comment about what u liked. <3
> 
> my ask box is always open if you have questions or just wanna talk: pomodoriyum.tumblr.com/ask


	8. Well are you gonna be a Jedi or...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maul learns two new skills.

 

_ Six months, and twenty-two days. _

Maul was staring at the walls of his room.  It was two hours before dawn, and the hatchet marks on the wall looked like crevices deep with shadows.

Maul should have been sleeping, but he couldn’t.  Not without probing where his old Force bond had been, not without feeling the puckered grey scar where it’d existed for years.  Six months ago it had been blisteringly cold and angrily throbbing.  It had gone dead, deactivated, around month five.  And it had disappeared shortly after the first week of three months at the Jedi temple.  Maul could still sometimes feel his Master’s heavy gaze on his skin, but he wasn’t sure if that was his paranoia, his desperation, or both.

Ever since Maul’d broken down, Obi-wan had been treating him like glass.  Maul hadn’t noticed a huge change-- not at first, but when Obi-wan had snapped at Qui-gon for mentioning force-bonds, he picked up on it.  It mostly consisted of increased scrutiny during training, and the constant question, ‘are you okay?’ when they were sparring.  Maul supposed Obi-wan wanted him to be grateful, but all he felt was tired annoyance.   _ I’m not THAT weak.  He, of all people, should know. _  Maul grinned.  Every time Obi-wan had asked him that question, Maul’d wiped the floor with him.  Not that he didn’t wipe the floor with Obi-wan every time, mind you.  He was just a little quicker about it, was all.  And even if Maul was a little clumsier than usual because of general exhaustion, the padawan could not keep up.

Qui-gon, of course, hadn’t changed his behaviour one bit.  He smiled a lot,  _ especially _ when Maul was purposely being frustrating-- Maul knew that Qui-gon knew Maul was just being difficult because he could-- but Maul was careful not to push it too far.  He swallowed, remembering his Master’s cold high voice and searing claws digging under his skin like fiery worms.

Training was  _ fine. _  Sleeping was not.

When Maul wasn’t struggling with insomnia, he had recurring nightmares, the kind where you wake up crying and can’t remember anything besides deep fear and the throbbing need to  _ run. _  And sometimes during the day Maul  _ swore _ the shadows were following him, sticking to him in swathes.  He did not tell Qui-gon.  There was no need for the Jedi to know.   _ I can deal with it.  I’ve dealt with worse before. _  Maul purposely ignored that it was probably a general lack of sleep rather than an actual threat.  His grip on the world was tenuous as it was.

Although Maul’s mental health had definitely taken a turn for the worse, his body had slowly become stronger.  While his teeth were still a deep yellow brown color, they didn’t feel loose in his jaw anymore, and the sores on his gums and lips had closed up.  Maul’s muscles were just as strong as they had been before the accident, and the bruises that had littered his skin were gone.  His new diet kept him from feeling weak, and the cave of his stomach was slowly decreasing.

Maul sighed from his spot on the floor, and leaned his face more heavily into his hands.  “Fuck,” he whispered, “I’m so tired.”

\---

The months rolled onwards, and Maul’s sleep was gradually becoming calmer.  Gentler.  Maul was starting to genuinely  _ like _ the Jedi, or, at least, Obi-wan and Qui-gon.  They were...kind.  It was nice.  Maul didn’t think about it too hard, because they were Jedi and he was a Sith apprentice, and he was here on a reconnaissance mission (because  _ what else _ could he tell Sidious when he reported back-- and he  _ would _ report back, Maul assured himself), and eventually they would have to die.

Maul preferred to think that he wouldn’t have to be the one doing the killing.

\---

One day, Qui-gon gave him a pencil and some paper.  “Do you know how to write?” he’d asked.

Maul fought the instinctive rush of shame and growled, “Yes.”

Qui-gon smiled, and Maul almost felt guilty for his half-lie.  “Show me.”  The Jedi handed Maul the pencil.

“Are you sure you trust me with this?” Maul asked, thinking of the ways he could use it.  It’d probably be most effective shoved into someone’s tear ducts.

Qui-gon smiled placidly.  “I let you spar using wooden wasters* with my Padawan.  If you wanted to you could seriously injure him.  I don’t think a pencil is that much more dangerous.”

Maul pursed his lips.   _ Oh, if only you knew.  Lead is toxic to most species, you know. _

“Besides,” Qui-gon continued, “I hope you don’t think you distracted me.” He gestured to the page.  “Show me.”

Maul bit his lip and carefully began to inscribe his name in clumsy blocky Mandalorian.

Qui-gon watched him with deep scrutiny.  “...I see.”  The Jedi nodded, and Maul straightened up, feeling annoyed and decisively uncomfortable.

“I told you I could write.”  Maul felt defensive.

The Jedi frowned.  “Can you...write anything else?”

Maul felt his cheeks heating up, and he looked down at the ground.  “Fuck you.”

Qui-gon heaved a sigh.  “I can’t believe that Palpatine had you working as his  _ page _ and never taught you how to read and write.”

“I can read!” Maul’s tone was squeaky, almost embarrassed. “And I just wrote my name,” he added hastily.

Qui-gon raised an eyebrow, but there was a...confusing amount of sadness on his face.  “Oh, Maul.”

Maul crossed his arms.  “Don’t use that tone.  That’s your ‘pity’ voice, and I do not want that.”

Qui-gon sighed.  “I know. And that isn’t your name.”

Maul shifted uncomfortably.  He could  _ really _ feel the blood rushing to his face now, and looked down at the messy symbols on the page.

“I’m going to teach you how to read.  And write.”  Qui-gon said.

This time, Maul did not protest.

Qui-gon reached out and crumpled the paper away.  It said,  _ Property of Lord Sidious _ .

Those words burned in his mind even as Qui-gon taught Maul the alphabet.  It was not uncommon to teach slaves their ‘name’-- it made them vulnerable, easy to identify. Not for the first time, Qui-gon wanted to put Palpatine’s head through a wall.

Maul was, unsurprisingly, easy to teach.

\---

“They granted you permission to  _ what _ ?!”  Mace’s tone was incredulous, almost high-pitched in surprise.

Qui-gon grinned. “Maul’s not exactly dangerous, Mace.”

“Maybe not to you,” Mace grumbled.  “I saw his sparring the other day.  He’s as good as most of the Jedi specialized in martial arts—if not better.”

“Despite that, the council has approved my request.”

Mace heaved a sigh.  “You clever bastard.  Qui, you made sure that it was one of the days I’d be gone!”

“Well,” Qui-gon smiled, “I knew the idea wouldn’t sit well with you.”

Mace shook his head.  “Listen, just don’t let the kid cause too much trouble, okay?  Remember, he is still a Sith apprentice.”

Qui-gon shrugged.  “Maul’s changed.”

Mace snorted.  “Yes, but with you as his influence? It can hardly be for the better.”

Qui-gon leveled Mace with a Look. “That child is the victim of--”

“—horrifying abuse, yes. I meant it as a joke.  I did not mean to offend you.”

Somewhat mollified, Qui-gon uncrossed his arms and dropped the glare.

Mace sighed.  “Look, I want Maul to be happy just as much as the next Jedi, but he’s dangerous.”  When Qui-gon opened his mouth to object, Mace held up a hand.  “All I ask is that you keep a close eye on him.”

Qui-gon nodded.  “Yes.  That is the plan.”

“Mm.  Good luck, Qui-gon.  You’ll need it.”

Qui-gon spared a glance for his two errant charges, who were busy glaring at each other just outside the doors of the temple. “Thank you.”

\---

“So,” Qui-gon said, spreading his hands across the map,  “We are going to enter here.  Both of you are going to stay with me.  If we get separated,  _ for any reason whatsoever, _ I want you both to stay together.  You understand?”

Maul nodded, and felt Obi-wan’s assent vibrate through the Force.  Maul was excited and antsy.  _ This is the first time I am being allowed out of the Temple!! _

“Master,” Obi-wan said, carefully, “what if the tunnel collapses?”

Qui-gon smiled gently.  “It won’t.”

Maul felt Obi-wan prickle uneasily.  “And if it does?”

“Well,” Qui-gon said brightly, “then we’ll die.”

Obi-wan scowled.  “Thanks. That’s very reassuring.”

Maul grinned.   _ I have not had a mission with stakes this low in a while.  It will be a good refresher. _

\---

In the back of his mind, Maul knew that this ‘mission’ was actually just another way to monitor and dissect his behaviour, but he couldn’t help but feel thrilled to be outside the Temple’s walls.  He didn’t realize how  _ caged _ he felt until he was outside, breathing (semi)free air.

The point of their mission was to inspect a part of the drainage system for damages after a minor earthquake earlier that week.  Maul heavily suspected that no other Jedi wanted the job, since the drainage pipes were rank with mold and sewage, but he was grateful for something to do other than training.

Maul’s free feeling faded as they made their way into the tunnels-- the walls were far too close for any semblance of freedom-- but Maul found he didn’t mind so much.  He was walking, off Temple grounds,  _ without chains on his feet or a guard. _

“Ugh, it stinks,” Obi-wan complained, and Maul stifled the urge to roll his eyes.  Qui-gon was the one who answered, though.

“Padawan, we are in a sewer.  Of  _ course _ it stinks.” 

The next few minutes were silent as Obi-wan processed the information.  Or ignored it and kept walking alongside Maul and Qui-gon.  Maul wasn’t sure how smart Obi-wan was, because although most days he was sharp... _ Somedays he just seems stupid.  Maybe that’s just how humans grow..? A cycle of stupidity and then another of intelligence?  Surely a species could not survive that way. _

Maul stifled a snort when Obi-wan slipped on something wet and went reeling backwards onto his ass.

“You’re useless,” Maul said as Obi-wan stood, looking bedraggled and annoyed.

“Well, you’re tiny and--!”

“Shh,” Qui-gon cut in, “We’re almost at the damaged area.  We must keep a lookout for cracks.”  

Obi-wan huffed and looked away from Maul.  Qui-gon looked amused.  Maul fumed.   _ I am NOT tiny. _

\---

It happened when they were going around a bend.

“Hey, Maul.”  Obi-wan seemed incapable of being silent for very long.  Maul pursed his lips.

“What.”  Maul made it clear that it was not a question.  For whatever reason, Obi-wan was really getting under his skin today.   _ He’s supposed to be older than me, but today he’s been...annoying. _

“How long did you know Palpatine?”

Beside him, Qui-gon stiffened.  “Padawan--”

Maul swallowed, suddenly very much aware of the place in his mind where his bond had been.

“Listen, I’m just curious, he won’t answer me if he doesn’t want to, you know how he is, Master--”

“It’s fine.”  Maul’s voice sounded a little strangled, and he wasn’t exactly  _ happy _ , but if he’d told the council, he could tell Kenobi. “...Ever since I remember.”

“Really?” Obi-wan sounded honestly, openly curious.  Maul felt a little sick to his stomach.  “So...he raised you.”

Qui-gon says something steely, but Maul is too busy glaring at his feet to be bothered to listen.  The pipes are dark and remind him of the room on Mustafar. It’d been small and cramped.  Home, for a long time.  The biggest difference here is that the pipes seem to go on forever, endless arteries in some great beast.  Maul wonders, distantly, if there’s a chamber for the heart.

It is in this moment precisely when there is a cracking sound like thunder that washes over the burgeoning argument between Obi-wan and Qui-gon, and a sea of rocks is crashing down on them in one horrible heavy wave.  Maul finds himself moving, grabbing Obi-wan’s shoulders and wrenching him to the side. The padawan stumbles and Maul drags him to the wall a second later.

Obi-wan is breathing hard, but Maul is breathing harder.  He is also trembling from the adrenaline rush.

The last of the rocks crumble from above, and all that is left is a pile of debris and dirt.

Obi-wan made a low shrieking noise and flailed towards the rocks.  “Qui-gon?!” He’s saying.

Maul doesn’t hear him until he falls, and Obi-wan curses, “Shit!”  Maul is too busy staring at the ceiling nervously to really process Kenobi’s words until a moment later.

“Maul.  Maul! I found Master!” Somehow, Obi-wan’s voice is thin with nervousness.

Maul blinks at Obi-wan for a few moments.  “...What?”

“He’s unconscious.  Get over here!” Obi-wan’s voice is high pitched with panic.  “I think he took something to the head!”

Maul decides that the ceiling is no longer in danger of imminent collapse and scrambles over the rocks to where Obi-wan kneeled by Qui-gon.

Qui-gon’s face was pale, and while Maul couldn’t see any blood, he could smell it.  “Check the back of his head,” he said, and when Obi-wan withdrew a hand from the back of Qui-gon’s skull it was sticky and bright with blood.

“Shit,” Obi-wan breathed.

Maul frowned.  “Head wounds bleed a lot…”

“I know,” hissed Obi-wan, “I’ve been trained in healing.  Head injuries are too delicate, though.  I’ll have to stem the bleeding.”

Maul felt a twinge of apprehension.  “We need to get out of the tunnels.”

Obi-wan frowned. “We can’t risk moving Qui-gon.”

“Your ankle is swelling.” Maul pointed to Obi-wan’s foot.  “You couldn’t carry him if you tried.”

Obi-wan pursed his lips and gave Maul a considering look. “You remember the way out of the tunnels?”

Maul nodded.   _ Of course I do. _

“Then go, and get help.  I’ll monitor his vitals.”

Maul blinked, and nodded again.  Then he turned towards the exit and began to jog.

\---

Maul fled the tunnels within ten minutes.  The air was clear, and the light pierced his eyes after the murky darkness of the pipes.  Maul blinked.  Ahead of him was a dirt road.  To his right was the Jedi Temple.  Maul had no doubt that he could take the path through the fields and disappear.  The Jedi would never find him, and by the time they were aware he was gone, he’d be halfway back to his Master.  But then Maul remembered that his bond was gone, and there was no way for him to find his Master. 

And besides, leaving Qui-gon to die left a bitter taste in Maul’s mouth.

So he turned towards the Jedi Temple and sprinted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: i forgot to add!!!  
> *fun fact! Wasters are a broad category of wooden or plastic swords used for training, with origins in medieval Europe. Originally, a ‘waster’ was actually a wooden cudgel or club but the word evolved to also include swords, which are now more closely associated with the term.
> 
>  
> 
> I...am not entirely happy with this chapter. It's okay. I'm getting the story to where it needs to go. Next chapter may be edging towards the last? or the one after that. Idk, idk.  
> I am...neutral about Maul's development in this chapter. It had to be done, but it reads (to me) as boring as hell. Hope you enjoyed..?


	9. short end of a fistful of luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> maul has a Bad Time(TM)

Qui-gon Jinn looked small and frail under the hospital sheets.  He was sleeping peacefully-- and Maul was staring at him with hungry yellow eyes.  Obi-wan was seated in the chair next to the head of Qui-gon’s bed, wringing his hands and looking miserable.

This was the first time that Maul was allowed to visit Qui-gon since the collapse in the tunnels three days ago.  After Maul had reported Qui-gon’s condition, he’d been shoved back in his cell without any further ado, to Maul’s bitter disappointment.  He’d bitten one of the guards in his rage, too. 

_ Well, what did you expect from Jedi? _ Maul’d whispered poisonously to himself.

But earlier today, with no warning at all, a tall bald Jedi appeared at his cell door and knocked.

Maul had jumped to his feet, ready to fight-- or speak, whichever came first.

The man (who seemed vaguely familiar) said, “Maul, Qui-gon’s in the hospital wing.  You may visit him now.”

Maul was too eager to be suspicious, and he followed the Jedi without hesitation.

\---

“So,” Obi-wan began, looking anywhere but at Maul, “he just fell asleep.  He was awake earlier.”

Maul nodded, swallowing down the fear that he hadn’t even noticed was building.

“The thing is,” Obi-wan continued, hollow-eyed, and Maul felt the fear leap back up into his throat, “he’s blind.”

_ Oh. _  Maul felt some of the blood leave his face.   _ That’s bad. _

“Not that you care.”  

Maul bared his teeth, feeling rage starting to pool in his guts and flare into the Force.  He hissed, “Excuse me,  _ Kenobi _ ?” with the coldest, most offended tone he could manage.

Obi-wan was watching him with wary eyes.  “...good. I just wanted to make sure.”

_ Was this fucker just testing me…?  _ Maul’s shoulders relaxed, but he kept his teeth mostly bared.  “Don’t doubt me,” he spat.  _ Not after saving your Master.  If you knew what I sacrificed... _

Obi-wan held up a hand.  “I’m sorry. I just…” he trailed off and didn’t finish.  Maul eyed the pallor of his skin, and decided to let it slide.   _ Kenobi is exhausted. _

Suddenly, Qui-gon stirred.

Maul directed his attention back to the bed.

Slowly, as if waking from a particularly deep dream, Qui-gon opened his eyes.  Maul frowned.  _ They  _ look _ perfectly normal.  Why can’t he see? _

“Mace…?” Qui-gon wondered, voice rough, before saying, “Obi-wan?”

“I’m here, Master.”  Obi-wan seemed a little too eager, reaching out to put a hand on Qui-gon’s side.

“Good,” Qui-gon grunted, sitting up.  “...my head hurts,” he huffed.

Maul shifted anxiously from foot to foot, wondering if he should say anything.  If Qui-gon would care.

Qui-gon cocked his head to the side.  “Maul…? Is that you?”

Maul swallowed as relief broke over him, and said, “Yes.”

“Well, c’mere so I can sense you better.  The drugs are messing with the Force.”

Maul tentatively stepped over.  Something brushed his cheek and he flinched before realizing it was just Qui-gon flailing the Force about to find him.  Maul responded with his own little tendril, and once it brushed up around the energy surrounding Qui-gon, the Jedi relaxed and turned his head towards Maul. “There you are,” Qui-gon said.  It was a little eerie, having sightless perfect eyes turned towards him, just a hair off from looking at Maul’s face.

“Well, Maul, thank you for going to get help.  Obi-wan told me what happened.”

Maul grunted, feeling unsure.  Qui-gon smiled at him.  _...he looks fucking saintly.   _ “...I wish you hadn’t lost your vision.”

Qui-gon frowned, just a little, before covering it up with a gentle smile.  “I’ll get used to it, Maul. Don’t worry.”

Maul crossed his arms, suddenly offended.  “Why aren’t you letting yourself be angry?”

Obi-wan made an upset noise, and snapped, “As if you’re stable enough to give mental health advice! Just leave it be, why don’t you!”

Qui-gon sighed and hushed Obi-wan with his hand.  “Obi-wan, it’s all right. Maul, it’s because being angry about it won’t change anything.”

Maul got the feeling Qui-gon was not really talking about his eyesight.  He narrowed his eyes. “That’s stupid,” he said, mostly to see if he could make Qui-gon mad.

Instead Qui-gon drooped, just a little.  “Maul…” he said, “I don’t have the strength for an argument right now.”

Suddenly, Maul was hit with a wave of guilt.  He ducked his head. “I...I apologize.” He half expected to be hit, or hear Sidious’s high cold voice, but instead Maul was met with a gentle, “It’s all right,” from Qui-gon.

Maul swallowed down something hot and strained in his throat.

It was that night that Maul decided that he preferred Qui-gon over Sidious any day.

\---

The first two months after the accident were miserable.  Sure, Maul had more little freedoms, because apparently the Council trusted him now, but watching Qui-gon struggle through menials tasks  _ hurt _ .

Maul took out his resentment in the gym, where he’d do his best to beat the shit out of any partner willing to spar with him (they very quickly numbered few and far between, and Maul gained a reputation for being an intense, remorseless opponent.)  He held off on giving them major debilitating injuries, though. Because he didn’t want to get locked away again.

What bothered him most was how much the other Jedi pitied Qui-gon now.  They’d  _ baby _ him to the point of driving Maul mad-- but Qui-gon tolerated it all with amazing patience, although once he ‘accidentally’ hit one of the particularly rude therapists in the knee after he made a disparaging comment about Obi-wan’s progress towards Knighthood.  That’d made Maul grin.

Obi-wan had developed an almost ferocious protective streak for his Master-- and for whatever reason, he’d felt the need to include Maul in that bubble.  Maul thought his help was unneeded and childish, because he could handle the teasing from the older Padawans (mostly by threat of violence), but he did admit it was...nice… when they suddenly stopped staring at him like an exotic animal in a cage.

Maul spent a lot of time in the gardens, as did Qui-gon.  Maul liked to wander among the maze of plants, rarely coming across another person.  Most of the vegetation was useless, merely decorative-- and _ yet.  _  And yet they gave Maul the illusion of freedom.  Of peace. He’d spend hours lying flat on his back near the stream and staring lazily up at the sky above.

He rarely thought of Sidious at all, except for the occasional nightmare.

“Qui-gon,” he said one day, while Obi-wan was at the library and Qui-gon was practising braille-- “When do you think Sidious is going to kill me?”

Qui-gon, who had been cursing under his breath because of the difficulty of reading the shapes, looked up to send an inquisitive glace in Maul’s direction.  His face looked concerned. “Why do you think he’d ever be close enough to try?”

Maul’s lips thinned and his shoulders got tight.  “My tattoos-- they-- he can…” Maul heaved a sigh, unsure of how to explain.

Qui-gon looked confused.  “Are your tattoos a link to him?”

Maul growled in frustration and gestured uselessly with his hands.  “No-- well, kind of? They’re imbued with-- with the Force, and he can activate them. It’s-- painful.”

Qui-gon’s face was getting tight with concern. “So you’re telling me that he can hurt you from across the galaxy?”

Maul bit his lip.  “He’s done it before.  But I deserve it, anyway,” he muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”  When Maul gave no reply, Qui-gon straightened up.  “...I’ll talk to the Council about it, see if they can--”

“No! No.  I don’t want to get those banth-fuckers involved.”

Qui-gon looked almost offended, but then he grinned and shook his head.  “You know I’m still on the Council, right?”

“Yeah.  I do.” Maul refused to apologize.

Qui-gon chuckled, then let his smile drop.  “But really, Maul, they might be able to help you.”

Maul bared his teeth and stood.  “I don’t want their help!”

Qui-gon seemed to sense his unease and let the subject go.

\---

It was four months later when Maul heard the news.

The first sign of trouble was when Maul found the Padawans whispering among themselves, only to glance over at him as he passed by and quieted with wide staring eyes.  He glared at them suspiciously, and then, after turning the corner, made his way up into the air-shaft via a nicely executed jump and just a  _ little  _ help from the Force.

The second bit of trouble was when one of the Padawans loudly announced, stupidly unaware of Maul sitting quietly above their heads, that “ _ he _ was gone” and that “ _ I’m  _ going to be the one to be selected for that mission, you know--”

“Pfft, as if!” another Padawan cut in.  “they’re not going to let  _ you _ on that mission.   _ You’re _ barely of age.”

“He’s right,” a smaller, softer voice chimed in. “none of us is going to get to go.  The Council isn’t going to risk any of us getting corrupted.”

Maul frowned and shifted a little so he could see them a bit better through the grate.   _ What are they talking about? _

But Maul never did quite find out, because at that very moment Mace Windu came striding down the hall.  The Padawans seemed to stiffen, and Maul could smell the Force getting nervous, and when Mace arrived half of them either ducked their heads or squirmed where they stood.

“What are you all doing here?” Mace said in his calm, all-too-knowing tone.

“Just-- just talking!” said the first Padawan quickly.

Mace gave an exasperated sigh.  “Gossiping, more like. Go to the gardens and practice your kata, all of you.”

“But, Master--”

“Go.”

The Padawans scattered like leaves in the wind.

After a few moments, when they’d all disappeared, Mace looked up, directly at Maul.  Maul stiffened.  _ Shit. _

“And you,” Mace said, mildly, “get down from there.  Qui-gon is looking for you.”

Maul heaved a sigh and removed the grate before slipping down onto the floor below without a sound.  Mace looked him up and down, and Maul fought to keep his annoyance and anger from showing on his face.

“Qui-gon is in his rooms.”

Maul’s eyes narrowed a tad, and then nodded.  “I’ll go to him now.”

“Good.”

Maul could feel Mace Windu’s even, steady gaze on his back all the way until he rounded the nearest corner.

\---

Qui-gon was sitting at his desk waiting for him.

“Maul,” he greeted with a smile.

Maul blinked, feeling suspicious,

Qui-gon frowned.  “There’s been some news.”

“So I’ve heard,” grumbled Maul, crossing his arms against the foreboding growing in his gut.

“It’s--” Qui-gon sighed and started again.  “You’re probably not going to like it.”

“Stop beating around the bush and tell me,” Maul huffed impatiently.  _ If it’s about Sidious-- _

Qui-gon swallowed, and the bubble of Force around him bubbled and swum nervously.

“The thing is-- Maul-- they, ah. Well. We finally managed to catch up with Palpatine.”

Maul’s breath caught in his throat.  “What?” he replied. There was something cold akin to dread opening up in his belly.

Qui-gon winced.  “Palpatine. He’s in custody.”  Qui-gon was watching him very, very carefully-- Maul could feel the Force shimmering around him.

Maul felt the beginnings of fully fledged panic begin to set in.  His heart rate elevated. His throat constricted. His breath got short.

“I--” he began, but his voice squeaked into nothing and somehow he was getting little black spots across his vision.

_ Funny _ , Maul thought, before the guilt and terror and anger hit.

“He’s not going to be anywhere near you,” Qui-gon reassured.

Maul’s legs folded, and he wished very much that his body would stop. That  _ everything  _ would stop.

“Maul?” Qui-gon said.  He was concerned. Maul hardly heard him.  The floor was much better to look at.

Slowly, Qui-gon’s footsteps approached.  He reached out-- Maul felt himself flinch-- and then pulled the Zabrak close.  Maul was stiff in his arms and it took him a moment to realize that there were tears coming from his eyes.

“Maul.  It’s going to be alright.”

_ No, it’s not _ , Maul thought, but didn’t bother replying.  Then he closed his eyes against the rising tide of black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please let me know what you liked! it took f o r e v e r to get this chapter ready, but now i've got the ball rolling in the direction I want this story to go?? the final chapters are coming up >:3 eheheheheheheh
> 
> i'm super glad to be back with this story, agh, it was nice and refreshing to write for star wars again...!!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Go ahead and yell @ me on tumblr (my blog is pomodoriyum)


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